PS LITTLE 
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BIO • • JOHN 




LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE 




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CHICKEN LITTLE JANL 
ON THE BIG JOHN 



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Chicken Little Jane 


By 

LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE 

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New York 

BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 



Copyright, 1919, by 
Britton Publishing Company, Inc. 


Made in U. S. A. All rights reserved. 


AUG 23 !9iS 

©GI.A53061 9 

“Ho . ( • 



CHAPTER PAGE 

1 With Huz and Baby Jill in the Pas 

TURE 

II Harking Back to Centerville . 

III Chicken Little Pays a Visit 

IV A Cherry Penance 

V The Guests Arrive 

VI A Hunting Party 

VII Pigs 

VIII A Party and a Picnic .... 

IX Bread and Polliwogs .... 

X Supper at the Captain’s . . . 

XI Calico and Company .... 


11 

27 

43 

62 

81 

100 

123 

141 

161 

179 

195 



CONTENTS 


XII 

Dick and Alice Go On Alone 

. 215 

XIII 

Chicken Little and Ernest . 

. 238 

XIV 

Off to Annapolis . . . . 

. 255 

XV 

School 


XVI 

The Prairie Fire 

. 295 

XVII 

The Lost Oyster Supper 

. 315 

XVIII 

An April Fool Frolic .... 

. 338 

XIX 

Sherm Hears Bad News . 

. 355 

XX 

The Captain Finds His Own . . 

. 373 
























































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CHICKEN LITTLE JA>E 
ON THE BIG JOHN 



* ; •»' . *hA. ... *\ .. 

Chapter. i 

'WITH HUZ AND BABY 
JILL IN THE PASTURE 


“Chicken Little — Chicken Little!” 

Mrs. Morton’s face was flushed with the heat. 
She was frying doughnuts over a hot stove and had 
been calling Chicken Little at intervals for the past 
ten minutes. Providence did not seem to have de- 
signed Mrs. Morton for frying doughnuts. She was 
very sensitive to heat and had little taste for cook- 
ing. She had laid aside her silks and laces on com- 
ing to the ranch, but the poise and dignity that come 
from years of gentle living were still hers. Her 
formal manner always seemed a trifle out of place 
in the old farm kitchen. On this particular morn- 
ing she was both annoyed and indignant. 


12 


Chicken Little Jane 


“She is the most provoking child!” she exclaimed 
in exasperation as Dr. Morton stepped into the 
kitchen. 

“Provoking — who? — Chicken Little? What’s 
the matter now?” 

“That child is a perfect fly-away. I can no more 
lay my hands on her when I need her than I could 
on a flea. She is off to the pasture, or out watching 
the men plow, or trotting away, no one knows where, 
with the two pups. And the worst of it is you en- 
courage her in it, Father. You forget she is thirteen 
years old — almost a woman in size ! She is too old 
to be such a tomboy. She should be spending her 
time on her music and sewing, or learning to cook 
— now that school’s out for the summer.” 

Dr. Morton laughed. 

“Oh, let up on the music for a year or two, 
Mother. Chicken Little’s developing finely. She’s 
a first rate little cook already. You couldn’t have 
prepared a better breakfast yourself than she gave 
us that morning you were sick. You don’t realize 
how much she does help you, and as to running about 
the farm, that will be the making of her. She is 
growing tall and strong and rosy. You don’t want 
to make her into an old woman.” 

“It is all very well to talk, Father, but I intend 
to have my only daughter an accomplished lady, and 
I think you ought to help me. She is too old to be 


With Huz and Baby Jill 13 

wasting her time this way. But have you any idea 
w r here she is? I want to send her over to Benton’s 
after eggs. I have used all mine up for settings, and 
I can’t make the custard pies you are so fond of, till 
I get some.” 

Dr. Morton laughed again. 

“Yes, I have an exact idea where she is. Set your 
kettle back on the stove a moment and come and 
see.” 

Mrs. Morton followed him, leaving her dough- 
nuts rather reluctantly. Ranch life had proved full 
of hardships to her. The hardships had been inten- 
sified because it was almost impossible to secure 
competent servants, or, indeed, servants of any kind. 
The farmer’s daughters were proud — too proud to 
work in a neighbor’s kitchen even if they went 
shabby or, as often happened among the poorer 
ones, fcarefoot, for lack of the money they might 
easily have earned. Mrs. Morton was not a strong 
woman and the unaccustomed drudgery was telling 
on her health and spirits. Dr. Morton, on the other 
hand, enjoyed the open-air life and the freedom 
from conventional dress and other hampering nice- 
ties. 

Mrs. Morton followed her husband through the 
long dining room and little hall to the square parlor 
beyond. He stopped in the doorway and motioned 
her to come quietly. Jane sat curled up in a big 


14 Chicken Little Jane 

chair with two fat, limp collie pups fast asleep in 
her lap. She was so lost in a book that she scarcely 
seemed to breathe in the minute or two they stood 
and watched her. 

“Well, I declare, why didn’t she answer me when 
I called?” 

“Chicken Little,” Dr. Morton called softly. 
Chicken Little read placidly on. 

“Chicken Little,” — a little louder. Still no re- 
sponse. 

“Chicken Little,” her father raised his voice. 
Chicken Little never batted an eyelash. One of 
the dogs looked up with an inquiring expression, but 
apparently satisfying himself that he was not to be 
disturbed, dozed off again. 

“Chicken Little — Chick-en Lit-tle!” 

“Ye-es,” the girl came to life enough to reply ab- 
sently. Dr. Morton turned to his wife with a tri- 
umphant grin. 

“Now, do you see why she didn’t answer? She 
is several thousand miles and some hundreds of 
years away, and she can’t get back in a hurry — blest 
be the concentration of childhood!” 

“What is it she’s reading?” 

“Kennilworth. Amy Robsart is probably waiting 
for Leicester at this identical moment. Why return 
to prosaic errands and eggs when you can revel in 
a world of romance so easily?” 


With Huz and Baby Jill l ^ 

“Father, you will ruin that child with your indul- 
gence !” 

Mrs. Morton walked deliberately across the 
room and removed the book from her daughter’s 
hands. 

Jane came to herself with a start. 

“Why, Mother!” 

“How many times have I told you, little daughter, 
that there is to be no novel-reading until your work 
and your practising are both done? Here I have 
been calling you for several minutes and you don’t 
heed any more than if you were miles away. I shall 
put this book away till evening. Come, I want you 
to go over to Benton’s and get me four dozen eggs.” 

Jane got up inwardly protesting, and in so doing, 
tumbled the two surprised and grumbling pups upon 
the floor. She didn’t mind doing the errand. She 
was unusually willing to be helpful though often 
very heedless about noticing that help was needed. 

“Can I go by the pasture, Father? It’s a lot 
shorter than round by the road.” 

“Yes, I think it’s perfectly safe. There are only 
about thirty head of steers there now, and they won’t 
pay any attention to you. Well, I must be off. Do 
you want anything from town, Mother?” 

“Yes, I have a list.” 

“Get it ready, will you, while I go across and see 
what Marian’s commissions are.” 




16 Chicken Little Jane 

“Across” meant across the road to the white 
cottage where Frank and Marian and their beloved 
baby daughter, Jill, lived. Little Jill was two and a 
half years old and everybody’s pet, from Jim Bart, 
the hired man, to “Anjen,” which was Jilly’s ren- 
dering of Auntie Jane. Even Huz and Buz, the 
two collie pups, followed her about adoringly, lick- 
ing her hands and face when opportunity offered, 
to her great indignation. 

“Do way, Huz, do way, Buz,” was frequently 
heard, followed by a wail if their attentions per- 
sisted. 

The family watched Dr. Morton drive away in 
the spring wagon down the long tree-bordered lane. 
When he was out of sight, Jane picked up the egg 
basket and started off toward the pasture gate. 

“Where are you going, Chicken Little?” Marian 
called after her. 

“To Benton’s for eggs.” 

“To Benton’s? Let me see, that’s less than a 
quarter of a mile, isn’t it? I wonder if you’d mind 
taking Jilly along. She could walk that far if you’d 
go slow, and it’s such a lovely day, I’d like to have 
her out in the sunshine — and I’m horribly busy this 
morning.” 

“Of course, I’ll take her. Come on, Jilly, you 
lump of sweetness, we’ll pick some pretty flowers. 


With Huz and Baby Jill 17 

You aren’t in a great hurry for the eggs, are you, 
Mother?” 

“Oh, if you get back by eleven it will be all right. 
I have to finish the doughnuts and do several other 
things before I will be ready for the pies.” 

“That’s a whole hour — we can get back easy in 
an hour — can’t we, Jilly-Dilly?” 

Marian in spite of her busy morning watched 
them till they entered the pasture, the sturdy little 
baby figure pattering along importantly beside the 
tall slim girl. 

“How fast they’re both growing,” she thought. 
“Jane’s always so sweet with Jilly — I feel safe when 
she’s with her.” 

“O Jane,” she called a moment later, “I wouldn’t 
take the pups along if you are going through the 
pasture. The cattle don’t like small dogs.” 

Huz and Buz, after lazily watching the children 
walk off, had apparently decided to join them, and 
were bringing up the rear a few yards behind. They 
were fat, rollicking pups, too young and clumsy to 
be very firm on their legs as yet. Jane turned round 
and ordered the rascals home. Marian called them 
back also, and after deliberating a moment uncer- 
tainly, they obeyed. They were encouraged to make 
a choice by a small stick Chicken Little hurled at 
them. 


18 Chicken Little Jane 

“Go on,” said Marian, “I’ll see that they don’t 
follow you.” 

She coaxed the dogs round to the back of the 
house and saw them greedily lapping a saucer of 
milk before she went back to her work. 

Buz settled down contentedly in the sunshine after 
the repast was over, but Huz, who was more ad- 
venturous, hadn’t forgotten that his beloved Jane 
and Jilly were starting off some place without him. 
He gave the saucer a parting lick around its outer 
edge to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, then 
watched the kitchen door for some fifty seconds with 
ears perked up, to see whether any further refresh- 
ments or commands might be expected from that 
quarter. Marian was singing gaily about her work 
in a remote part of the cottage, and Huz presently 
trotted off round the corner of the house after the 
children. 

They had gone some distance into the pasture, 
but he tagged along as fast as his wobbling legs 
would carry him, whining occasionally because he 
was getting tired and felt lonesome so far behind. 
Huz had never gone out into the world alone before. 

Jane and Jilly were enjoying themselves. It was 
late May and the prairies were billowy with soft 
waving grasses and gaily tinted with myriads of wild 
flowers. 

“Aren’t they lovely, Jilly?” 


With Huz and Baby Jill 19 

Chicken Little filled one tiny moist hand with 
bright blossoms. 

“And see, dear, here’s a sensitive plant! Look 
close and see what the baby leaves do when Anjen 
touches them. See, they all lie down close to the 
mamma stem — isn’t that funny? Now watch, after 
a little they’ll all open up again. Here’s another. 
Jilly, touch this one.” 

Jilly poked out one fat finger doubtfully, and 
after some coaxing, gave the pert green leaves a 
quick dab. They drooped and the child laughed 
gleefully. 

“Do, Mamma, ’eaves do, Mamma!” she shouted. 
She insisted on touching every spray in sight. So 
absorbed were they in this pretty sport they did not 
notice that a group of steers off to the right had 
lifted their heads from their grazing and were look- 
ing in their direction. Neither did they see a small 
black and white pup, whose pink ribbon of a tongue 
was lolling out of his mouth as he, panting from his 
unusual exertions, approached them. 

Huz had been game. Having set out to come, he 
had come, but Huz was intuitive. He realized in 
his doggish consciousness that he wasn’t wanted and 
he deemed it wise not to make his presence known. 

While Chicken Little and Jilly loitered, he 
stretched himself out for a much-needed rest, keep- 
ing one eye on them and the other on the grazing 


20 


Chicken Little Jane 


steers, who stopped frequently to cast curious 
glances at the intruders. 

Presently the children walked on and Huz softly 
pattered along a few paces in the rear. All went 
well until they came abreast of the steers. Chicken 
Little was amazed to see the foremost one lift his 
head, then start slowly toward them. 

“Oh, dear,” she thought, “perhaps he thinks we’ve 
got salt for him.” 

Huz saw the movement, too, and some instinct 
of his shepherd blood asserted itself. He evidently 
considered the approach of the steer menacing and 
felt it his duty to interfere. With a sharp little 
staccato bark he dashed off in the direction of the 
herd as fast as his fat legs would carry him. His 
dash had much the effect of a pebble thrown into a 
pool, which gradually sets the whole surface of the 
water in motion. One by one the steers stopped 
grazing and faced in his direction, snuffing and hesi- 
tant. Huz yapped and continued to approach them 
boldly. 

Chicken Little saw the culprit with a shiver of 
dismay. 

“O Huz — you rascal! Oh, dear, and cattle hate 
a little dog! Come back here, Huz — Huz! Huz 
— shut up, you scamp !” 

But Huz, like many misguided human beings, 
thought he saw his duty and was doing it, regardless 


21 


With Huz and Baby Jill 

of possible consequences. He heeded Chicken Little 
to the extent of stopping in his tracks but persisted 
in his sharp yapping. The nearest steer began 
to move toward him, the others, one by one, grad- 
ually following. 

Chicken Little was frightened, though at first, 
only for poor foolish little Huz. 

“Oh, they’ll kill him if he doesn’t stop! He 
can’t drive cattle, the silly goose! Huz! Huz! 
Come here! Hush up!” 

Huz retreated slowly as the steers approached. 
The many pairs of hostile eyes and the long horns 
pointed in his direction were beginning to strike 
terror into his doggish heart, but his nerve was 
still good and he barked to the limit of his lungs. 

The steers came on faster. 

Jane’s breath grew quick and short as she 
watched them. The children were too far from 
either fence to escape the steers by flight. Even 
if she were alone, she could not hope to outrun 
them, and with Jilly, the case would be hopeless. 
There was only one thing to be done. She had 
seen enough of cattle during the past three years 
to know exactly what that was — she must drive 
them back. Putting Jilly behind her, she gathered 
up some loose stones and commenced to hurl them 
at the advancing steers. 

“Hi there! Hi, hi!” she yelled fiercely, start- 


22 Chicken Little Jane 

ing toward them brandishing her arms. The cattle 
paused, wavered, might have turned, but Huz, being 
thus reinforced, barked lustily again. The steers 
edged forward as if fascinated by this small, noisy 
object. 

“Huz, Huz, why can’t you be still?” 

Gathering up Jilly in her arms and bidding her 
hold tight and be very quiet, Chicken Little started 
on the run to Huz and speedily cuffed him into 
silence. But the steers were still curious and re- 
sentful. As she started to walk on, with Huz slink- 
ing crestfallen at her heels, the cattle moved after 
them. 

“I’ll have to get him out of sight!” 

She picked him up by the scruff of his neck and 
put him into Jilly’s chubby arms. 

“Here, Honey, you hold Huz, and slap him hard 
if he barks. Bad Huz to bark!” 

Jilly hugged the dog tight. “Huz bark, Jilly 
sap,” she remarked complacently. 

The cattle stopped when the dog disappeared 
from the ground. Chicken Little started toward 
them carrying her double burden and yelling “Hi, 
hi !” until they gave back a little. She persisted 
until she succeeded in heading them away from the 
road. Then she started on across the pasture still 
carrying Jilly and Huz, afraid to set either of 
them down lest they should attract the cattle. 


With Huz and Baby Jill 23 

But the herd’s curiosity had been thoroughly 
aroused. They were uneasy, and by the time 
Chicken Little had walked a hundred yards further 
on, they had faced toward her again and stood 
with heads up and tails waving, watching her. She 
began to walk rapidly, not daring to run lest she 
should give out under the child’s weight. Another 
twenty yards and the steers were following slowly 
after her. She quickened her pace; the herd also 
came faster. Chicken Little knew cattle were often 
stampeded by mere trifles. Jilly, seeing the brist- 
ling horns approaching, commenced to whimper. 

“Do home, Anjen, do home — Jilly’s ’faid!” 

Jane soothed the child in a voice that was fast 
growing shaky with terror. “I mustn’t get scared 
and lose my head,” she argued with herself. 

Father says that’s the worst thing you can do in 
danger. I must keep them back! Marian trusted 
me with Jilly — I must be brave!” 

Turning resolutely she confronted the herd, yell- 
ing and waving till with great exertion she headed 
them about once more. This time she gained a 
couple of hundred yards before they followed. Jilly, 
peeping fearfully over her shoulder, gave her 
warning. When she looked back and saw those 
thirty pair of sharp horns turned again in their 
direction, the girl gave a sob of despair. 

There was not another human being in sight. 


24 Chicken Little Jane 

The soft, undulating green of the prairie seemed 
to sweep around them like a sea. Jane looked up 
into the warm, blue sky overhead and prayed out 
loud. 

“O Lord, please keep them back. I’m doing 
the best I can, God, but — but — it’s so far to the 
fence! I truly am, Lord, and Jilly’s so little!” 
“Hi there, hi, hi! Yes, Jilly, yes, course Anjen’ll 
take care of you !” 

Her panic-stricken tones were hardly reassuring, 
the child wailed louder, casting frightened glances 
at the steers, then burying her face on Jane’s 
shoulder. The cattle were approaching on the 
trot, their great bodies swinging and jostling be- 
neath that thicket of horns as the animals in the 
rear pushed and crowded against the leaders. The 
steady thud of their hoofs seemed to shake the 
ground rhythmically. Jilly could hear even when 
she couldn’t see, and clung convulsively to Anjen 
with one arm while the other squeezed tight the 
chastened Huz. Chicken Little sent up a last pe- 
tition, as gathering up her remaining shreds of 
courage, she charged once more. 

“O God, please, please, help a little!” 

She never knew exactly what happened after that. 
Jilly was past all control. She was screaming 
steadily but her anguished howls were almost provi- 
dential for they helped out Jane’s weakening 


With Huz and Baby Jill 25 

shouts. Again and again Jane turned the steers, 
her voice growing fainter and hoarser. The cattle 
seemed to gather impetus with each rush — the dis- 
tance between them was fast lessening and the 
beasts became more and more unruly about going 
back. But in some miraculous way she kept them 
off until Mr. Benton, plowing in a field near the 
fence, was attracted by Jilly’s screams and rushed 
to their rescue. Driving away the steers, he lifted 
Jilly and Huz from Chicken Little’s aching arms, 
and took them all in to his wife to be comforted. 

It was some little time before Chicken Little 
could give the Benton’s an intelligible account of 
what had excited the steers. Mr. Benton’s aston- 
ishment was unbounded. 

“Well, Chicken Little, I’ll never say another 
word ’bout city folks being skeery. You ain’t so 
bad for a tenderfoot. How’d you know enough 
to face them that way instead of running? If you’d 
run they’d trampled you all into mince meat! Steers 
are the terablist critters !” 

Chicken Little was too shaky to answer with any- 
thing but a smile. 

Mrs. Benton refreshed them with milk and 
cookies and after the children had recovered from 
their fright, Mr. Benton drove them home. 

Frank came to lift Jilly from the buggy and Mr. 
Benton related their adventure with a relish. 


26 Chicken Little Jane 

“Clean grit, that sister of yours!” he ended. 
“She never even let go of that plaguey dog. The 
tears was a streamin’ down her face and I low she’d 
pray one minute and let out a yell at them blasted 
steers the next.” 

The tears stood in Frank’s eyes as he hugged 
both Jane and Jilly close after Mr. Benton drove 
away. 

“I’ll never forget this, little sister.” 

“Why, Frank, it was the only thing I could do. 
Marian trusted Jilly to me and I couldn’t let poor 
little Huz be killed!” 

Huz evidently approved this last sentiment, for 
he gambolled around the group, doing his doggish 
best to please. 

Chicken Little’s modesty, however, was destined 
to be short-lived. By the time her mother and 
Marian and Ernest had all praised and made much 
of her exploit, she felt herself a real heroine. She 
was a natural-bom dreamer, and she spent the re- 
mainder of the day in misty visions of wondrous 
adventures in which she always played the leading 
part. 




■r’ (TlAPTEFCII 

Harking back: 

TO CENTERVILLE 


Mrs. Morton was sitting by the dining room 
window one afternoon about a week later, busily 
knitting. 

“Here comes Father, Jane. Run out and get 
the mail. There should be a letter from Alice 
telling about the wedding and when they are 
coming.” 

“Oh, I do hope there is!” Chicken Little flew 
out the door and down the path to the road where 
Father was unloading bundles before he drove on 


to the stables. 

“From Alice? Yes, and one from Katy and 
Gertie, and three for Marian. She’s the popular 
lady this time.” Dr. Morton handed out the 
treasures. 

“Hurry, Mother,” Chicken Little fairly wriggled 
27 


28 Chicken Little Jane 

with eagerness as she tossed the letters into her 
mother’s lap. 

“Don’t be so impatient, child! Little ladies 
should cultivate repose of manner. Where are my 
spectacles? I was sure I laid them on the desk.” 

Mrs. Morton was peering around anxiously on 
desk and table and mantel, when Chicken Little 
suddenly began to laugh. 

“On your head, Mumsey, on your head! Hurry 
up and read the letter — I just can’t wait.” 

Her mother carefully unfolded the sheets and 
read them to herself deliberately before satisfying 
Jane’s curiosity. 

“They are not coming until the last of June,” 
she said finally. “Dick has an important case set 
for the tenth and they would have to make a hur- 
ried trip if they came before that, so they have 
settled down in the old home till the law suit is 
over. Then they are coming for a nice long visit. 
Alice says if Dick wins the case they are going 
clear to San Francisco, but if he doesn’t, they’ll 
go only as far as Denver. Oh, here’s a note for 
you, Chicken Little, from Dick. And Alice says, 
perhaps they’ll bring Katy and Gertie with them, 
if it is convenient for us to entertain so many, and 
leave them here while they go on out West. Dear 
me, I don’t know! Gertie hasn’t been very well, 
it seems, and Mrs. Halford is anxious to have her 


Harking Back to Centerville 29 

go to the country somewhere. Why, child ” 

Jane had paused with Dick’s cherished note half- 
opened to skip and jump deliriously till she was al- 
most breathless. 

“O Mother, wouldn’t that be glorious? You 
could put another bed in my room, and, maybe, 
they’d stay all summer. Oh, goody-goody, goody, 
goody, goody!” 

Dr. Morton coming in, caught her in the midst 
of her war dance and gave her a resounding kiss. 

“Here, Mother, where did you get this tee- 
totum? We might sell her for a mechanical top — 
warranted perpetual motion. When the legs give 
out, the tongue still wags.” 

“I don’t care, Father, Katy and Gertie are com- 
ing. I just can’t wait!” 

Jane hugged her father and did her best to spin 
his two hundred pounds avoirdupois around with 
her. 

When she had sobered down a little she re- 
marked doubtfully: “But, Mother, Katy and Gertie 
didn’t say a single word about coming, in their 
letter.” 

“Probably Mrs. Halford hasn’t told them. She 
would naturally write to me first, to find out if it 
is perfectly convenient for us before she roused 
their expectations. I presume Alice’s letter is only 


30 Chicken Little Jane 

a suggestion, and if I reply to it favorably, Mrs. 
Halford will write. I shall think it over.” 

“Think it over? Why, Mother, you’re going to 
ask them to come, aren’t you?” Chicken Little’s 
eyes were big with pained surprise. 

“My dear, I think it likely that I shall invite 
them — it would be good for you to have compan- 
ions of your own class once more. But it will mean 
a great deal of extra work, and unless I can get 
someone to help me, I do not see how I can manage 
it.” 

“Mother, I’ll help, and Katy and Gertie won’t 
mind washing dishes.” 

“Now, little daughter, we will let the matter rest 
for a day or two. Don’t you want to hear about 
Alice’s wedding?” 

“Read it aloud, Mother Morton.” It was 
Marian speaking. She was standing in the door 
with Jilly fresh and rosey from a long nap. 

Mrs. Morton looked up. 

“Jilly doesn’t seem any the worse for her bump 
this morning, does she?” 

“No, that’s the blessed thing about children, they 
get over things so easily. By the way, Father, 
Frank told me to tell you that he had taken Ernest 
with him over to the Captain’s after a load of hay. 
They’ll probably have supper there and be late get- 


Harking Back to Centerville 31 

ting home — that is if Captain Clarke asks them 
to stay — he is such a queer old duck.” 

“He doesn’t seem very neighborly, according to 
reports. I’ve found him pleasant the few times I 
have met him,” said Dr. Morton, “but let’s have 
Alice’s letter.” 

Mrs. Morton adjusted her spectacles and began 
to read. 

“Dear, Dear Mrs. Morton: 

“If we could only have had all the Morton family, 
great and small, present, the Harding-Fletcher 
Nuptials, as Dick insists upon calling our wed- 
ding — he quotes from the Cincinnati paper — 
would have been absolutely perfect. Uncle Joseph 
and Aunt Clara couldn’t have done more for me 
if I had been their very own. Aunt Clara insisted 
upon having the big church wedding, which I fear 
your quiet taste would not approve, but it was very 
lovely. And I do think the atmosphere of a big 
church and the beautiful music are wonderfully im- 
pressive. Dick says it’s the proper thing to tie the 
bridal knot with all the kinks you can invent — it 
makes it more secure. He said it was miles from 
the vestry to the chancel and his knees got mighty 
wobbly before he arrived, but after thinking it 
over, he concluded I was worth the walk — the 
heathen! Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that the 
sun shone on the bride most gloriously and the old 


32 Chicken Little Jane 

church was a perfect bower of apple-blossoms and 
white lilacs. My wedding dress was white satin 
with a train. I wore Aunt Clara’s wedding veil. 
It was real Brussels lace and I was scared to death 
for fear something would happen to it. I warned 
Dick off until he declared that the next time he got 
married the bride should either be out in the open, 
or have a mosquito net that wasn’t perishable. I’m 
not going to tell you about my trousseau because 
I intend to bring it along to show you. I want 
you to be surprised, and oh! and ah! over every 
single thing, because it is so wonderful for Alice 
Fletcher to have such beautiful clothes. Dick is 
looking over my shoulder and he says he thinks it’s 
time I learned that my name is Alice Harding. He 
says he’s going to have a half-dozen mottoes 

printed with 

‘My name is Harding. 

On the Cincinnati hills 
I lost the Fletcher!’ 

on them, and hang them about our happy home. 
Tell Chicken Little I’ve saved a big chunk of 
bride’s cake for her, and I’m dying to see her. It 
doesn’t seem possible that she is almost as tall as 
Marian.” 

The letter ran on with much pleasant chatter of 
the new home, which was the same dear old one 
where Alice had been born, and where the Morton 


33 


Harking Back to Centerville 

family had spent the two happy years that were 
already beginning to seem a long way off. 

Alice had graduated the preceding year, but 
Uncle Joseph would not listen either to her plea 
that she should pay the money back from her little 
inheritance, or that she should carry out her plan 
of teaching. He said it would be bad enough to 
give her up to Dick just as they had all learned 
to love her — she must stay with them as long as 
possible. 

Dick’s letter was as full of nonsense as Dick him- 
self. It was written with many flourishes to: 

“Miss Chicken Little Jane Morton, 

Big John Creek, 

Morris County, Kansas. 

“Dear Miss Morton, 

“I would respectfully inform you that your dear 
friend Alice Fletcher is no more — there ain’t no such 
person. She made a noble end in white satin cov- 
ered with sticky out things, and her stylish aunt’s 
lace curtain. She looked very lovely, what I could 
see of her through the curtain. My dear Miss 
Morton, I beseech you when you get married, don’t 
wear a window curtain. Because if you do the 
groom and the sympathizing friends can’t see how 
hard you are taking it. Alice didn’t look mournful 
when the plaguey thing was removed, but her aunt 
wept copiously at the train and took all the starch 


Chicken Little Jane 


34 

out of Alice’s fresh linen collar. And Alice said 
it would be a sight, if I mussed it. I don’t see the 
connection, do you? Dear Chicken Little, I 
thought about you all the time I wasn’t thinking 
about Alice, because I remembered a certain other 
wedding where the dearest small girl in the world 
introduced me to the dearest big girl in the world. 
I thought also of the little partner who wrote a 
certain letter and of many other things — I didn’t 
even forget the baby mice, Chicken Little! Alice 
says* she would like to have your name on her di- 
ploma along with the president’s because — well, 
you know why. And they tell us you are Chicken 
Big now. Thirteen going on, is a frightful age ! 
The worst of it is you can never stop ‘going on.’ I 
suppose I need not expect to be asked to any doll 
parties, but, Jane, wouldn’t you — couldn’t you, take 
me fishing when we come? I will promise to be as 
grown up as possible. 

“Yours, 

“Dick.” 

“P. S. Do you still read Mary Jane Holmes?” 

“Well, it is evident Dick Harding is the same 
old Dick, all right. Three years and getting mar- 
ried don’t seem to have changed him a particle,” 
laughed Marian. 

“Three years isn’t a lifetime,” retorted Dr. Mor- 


Harking Back to Centerville 35 

ton, “if it does seem ‘quite a spell’ to young people. 
Thank heaven, it has changed you, Marian, from a 
fragile, pale invalid to a hearty, rosy woman ! Dr. 
Allerton knew what he was about when he sent 
you to a farm to get well.” 

“Yes, I can’t be thankful enough, Father Mor- 
ton, and I don’t forget how kind it was of you all 
to come out so far with us.” 

“Mother is the only one who deserves any 
thanks — the rest of us were crazy to come. We 
were tickled to death to have an excuse, eh, Chicken 
Little?” He tweaked her ear for emphasis. 

“Oh, I love the farm, Father, only I wish Ernest 
could go away to school. He’s awfully worried for 
fear you won’t feel able to send him to college this 
fall. He studies every minute when he isn’t too 
tired.” Dr. Morton’s face grew grave. 

“Yes, it’s time for the boy to have a better 
chance. I wanted him to go last year, but the 
drought and the low price of cattle made it impos- 
sible. And I don’t quite know how it will be this 
fall yet.” 

“There mustn’t be any if about it this fall, 
Father. Ernest is working too hard here and now 
is the time for his education if he is ever to have 
one,” Mrs. Morton spoke decidedly. 

“I know all that, Mother, but college takes ready 
money, and money is mighty scarce these days. 


Chicken Little Jane 


36 

He’s pretty well prepared for college. I’ve seen 
to that, if we do live on a Kansas ranch.” 

“It isn’t just the studies, though, Father Mor- 
ton,” said Marian. “Ernest needs companionship. 
He doesn’t take to most of the boys around here, 
and I don’t blame him. They’re a coarse lot, most 
of them. The McBroom boys are all right, but 
they live so far off and are kept so busy with farm 
work, he never sees them except after church once 
a month or at the lyceums in winter.” 

“Marian’s just right, Father. The boy needs 
the right kind of associations; his manners and his 
English have both deteriorated here,” added Mrs. 
Morton. 

“Perhaps, Mother, but the boy is sturdy and well 
and his eyes are strong once more, and he is going 
to make a more worth while man on account of 
this very farm life you despise. But he does need 
companions. I wonder if we couldn’t get Carol or 
Sherm out here for the summer along with the 
rest.” 

“Father, do have some mercy on me. I can’t 
care for such a family!” Mrs. Morton gasped at 
this further adding to her burdens. 

Marian studied for a moment. 

“Mother, if you want to ask him, I’ll take 
Sherm, and Ernest, too, while Dick and Alice are 
here. I’d rather have Sherm than Carol, and 


Harking Back to Centerville 37 

Mother said in her letter that the Dart’s were hav- 
ing a sad time this year. Mr. Dart has been ill 
for so long.” 

Chicken Little had listened in tense silence to 
this conversation, but she couldn’t keep still any 
longer. 

“You are going to ask Katy and Gertie, aren’t 
you, Mother?” 

Mrs. Morton smiled but made no reply. 

“You’ll have to go to work and help Mother if 
you want any favors, Jane,” her father admon- 
ished. 

The following week apparently wrought an 
amazing change in Chicken Little. She let novels 
severely alone — even her precious set of Waverly 
beckoned in vain from the bookcase shelves. She 
waited upon her mother hand and foot. She set 
the table without being asked, and brought up the 
milk and butter from the spring house before Mrs. 
Morton was half ready for them. Indeed, she was 
so unnecessarily prompt that the butter was usually 
soft and messy before the meal was ready. She 
even practiced live minutes over the hour every day 
for good measure, conscientiously informing her 
mother each time. 

“Bet you can’t hold out much longer, Sis,” 
scoffed Ernest, amused at her efforts to be virtuous. 


38 Chicken Little Jane 

You’re just doing it to coax Mother into inviting 
Katy and Gertie.” 

“I just bet I can, Ernest Morton. Of course I 
want her to invite Katy and Gertie, but I’m no 
old cheat, I thank you, I’m going to help the best 
I can all summer if she asks ’em.” 

“And if she doesn’t?” 

“Don’t you dare hint such a thing — she’s going 
to — I think you’re real hateful! I just don’t care 
whether you get to go to college or not.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to.” 

Something in Ernest’s tone made Jane glance up 
in surprise. 

“Don’t want to? Why, you’ve been daffy about 
it — you haven’t thought about anything else for a 
year !” 

“That’s so, too, but I guess I can change my 
mind, can’t I?” 

Ernest lounged on the edge of the table and 
looked at his sister teasingly. 

He was almost six feet tall, slim and muscular, 
with the unruly lock of hair sticking up in defiance 
of all brushing as of old, and a skin that was still 
girlishly smooth though he shaved religiously 
every Sunday morning to the family’s secret amuse- 
ment. The results of this rite were painfully 
meager. Both Chicken Little and Frank chaffed 


Harking Back to Centerville 39 

him unmercifully about it. Jane loved to pass her 
hands over his chin and shriek fiendishly: 

“Ernest, I believe I felt one. I think — really, 
I think you’ll cut ’em by Christmas!” A lively 
race usually followed this insult. 

Frank was even meaner. He came into Ernest’s 
room one morning while he was shaving and 
gravely pretending to pick up a hog’s stiff bristle 
from the carpet, held it out to him. 

“Why Ernest, you’re really growing quite a 
beard!” 

But Ernest was a man in many ways if he had 
but little need of a razor. Seeing other boys so 
seldom and being thrown so much with men had 
made him rather old for his years and more than 
ordinarily capable and self-reliant. He loved 
horses and was clever in managing them, break- 
ing in many a colt that had tried the patience and 
courage of his elders. But his day dream for the 
past twelve months had been college. He had con- 
fided all his hopes and fears to Chicken Little. The 
love between the two was very tender, the more 
so that they had so few companions of their own 
ages. 

So Chicken Little, knowing that he had fairly 
lived and breathed and slept and eaten college dur- 
ing many months, might be pardoned for her 
amazement at his mysterious words. 


40 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Ernest, tell me — what’s the matter?” 

“Nothing’s the matter — I’ve got a new idea, 
that’s all.” 

“What is it? Where’d you get it?” 

“From the old captain. Say, you just ought to 
see his place — it’s the queerest lay-out. Snug and 
neat as a pin. He’s tried to arrange everything 
the way it is on shipboard. He’s got a Chinaman 
or a Jap, I don’t know which, for a servant. He 
is the first* one I ever saw, though they say there 
are lots of them in Kansas City. This chap can 
work all right. We had the best supper the even- 
ing Frank and I went over for hay.” 

“My, I wish I could see it. Do you suppose 
Father would take me over some time?” 

“I don’t know. They say he hates women — 
won’t have one around.” 

“Pshaw, you’re making that up, but what’s the 
idea? Oh, you old hateful, you’re just teasing — I 
can tell by your eyes!” 

“Honest Injun, I’m not any such thing, only you 
interrupt so you don’t give me a chance. You 
know the Captain has been at sea for twenty-five 
years — never’d quit only his asthma got so bad the 
doctor told him he’d have to go to a dry climate, 
and bundled him off here to Kansas. Well, he 
seemed to take a shine to me, and he asked me a 
lot of questions about what I was going to do. 


Harking Back to Centerville 41 

Finally, he wanted to know why I didn’t try to get 
into the Naval Academy instead of going to col- 
lege. Said if he had a son — and do you know, he 
turned kind of white when he said that, perhaps 
he’s lost a boy or something — he’d send him there.” 

O Ernest, and be an officer? I saw a picture of 
one at Mrs. Wilcox’s — her nephew — and his uni- 
form was perfectly grand.” 

“Just like a girl — always thinking of clothes! 
But I’ve been thinking perhaps I should like the 
life. I always like to read about naval lights, and 
our navy’s always been some pumpkins, if it has 
been small. And the captain says a naval officer 
has a chance to go all over the world. Think of 
your beloved brother, who has never been on a 
train but six times, sailing away for China or Aus- 
tralia !” 

Chicken Little gave a gasp, “Ernest Morton, it 
wouldn’t be a bit fair for you to go without me!” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t suppose there’s one chance 
in a hundred that I could get the appointment. 
Father knows Senator Pratt, and the Captain said 
he didn’t think there was as much competition for 
Annapolis out here as for West Point. It’s so far 
from the sea. But mind, Jane, not a word to any- 
body till I think it over some more. I’m going 
to see the Captain again.” 


42 Chicken Little Jane 

u 0 Ernest, what if you should go clear round the 
world ?” 

“ ’Twouldn’t hurt my feelings a bit. But mum’s 
the word, Sis.” 




EFC III 

CHICKEN LITTLE 
> PAYS A VIS IT 


Mrs. Morton was sitting at her desk writing a 
letter. Jane hovered about inquisitively. She was 
almost sure it was to Mrs. Halford. And if so, 
she must surely be inviting Katie and Gertie. If 
she could only be sure. She tried in vain to get a 
glimpse of the heading, but her mother’s hand 
rested on the paper in such a way as to effectually 
conceal it. Mrs. Morton did not believe in encour- 
aging curious young daughters. But opportunity 
was kind; some one called her mother away. She 
left the letter lying there partly finished. Chicken 
Little started joyfully across the room, but before 
she had reached the desk, something held her back. 
She had been most carefully trained as to what was 
honorable; sneaking was not tolerated in the Mor- 
ton family. 


43 


44 Chicken Little Jane 

“No,” she said to herself regretfully, “I mustn’t 
peep behind her back ! I couldn’t look anybody in 
the face if I did.” 

She slowly turned away. When her mother re- 
turned, she glanced sharply at Chicken Little 
quietly reading on the opposite side of the room. 
The girl did not realize that her face proved her 
innocence. It was so sober that her mother felt 
sure she had not meddled with the letter. Jane 
had not learned to conceal her emotions. 

Dr. and Mrs. Morton were both going to town 
that day. Mrs. Morton drove away without satis- 
fying Chicken Little’s curiosity, which was probably 
largely responsible for what happened. Jane felt 
injured. She thought her mother might tell her 
whether she could have the girls or not. Ten days 
was enough time for anybody to make up her mind. 

Frank and Ernest were out in the fields harrow- 
ing; Marian, busy sewing. Chicken Little soon fin- 
ished the few tasks her mother had left for her and 
time began to hang heavy on her hands. She 
couldn’t seem to fix her thought on a book because 
she kept wondering every minute if that letter was 
to Mrs. Halford. She wandered out into the June 
sunshine and wished she could have gone to town, 
too. Presently she began to feel aggrieved because 
her parents hadn’t taken her with them. 

Across the fields she could see the men at work 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 45 

and could occasionally hear them calling to the 
horses. She wished she had a horse to ride. The 
pony that was called hers by courtesy was the main- 
stay for the herding and she could seldom use him 
at this season. Finally, after digging her heels into 
some loose earth beside the path, she had an in- 
spiration. She debated it a moment with herself, 
then slipped back into the house, combed her hair 
over carefully, tied it with her best ribbon, and 
arrayed herself in her new blue lawn which her 
mother had distinctly told her was to be her second 
best for the summer. 

She smoothed it down complacently — pale blue 
w r as becoming to her clear, rosy skin — but her con- 
science pricked. She succeeded in lulling this an- 
noying mentor by reasoning that her mother 
wouldn’t want her to go visiting in an old dress. 
She tried to ignore the fact that her mother hadn’t 
given her permission to go visiting at all. 

Slipping out the back way to avoid disturbing 
Marian, in case she should be looking out her win- 
dow or Jilly should be on the watch, Chicken Little 
whistled softly to Huz and Buz. The puppies were 
three weeks older and stronger than when Huz so 
nearly caused disaster, and trotted after Jane on all 
her tramps. She was seldom lonesome when she 
had them rolling and tumbling along beside her. 

Making a wide detour around the white cottage, 


46 Chicken Little Jane 

she struck into a faint track skirting the upper fields. 
There was a nearer way through the lower fields 
along the slough, but Frank had killed several big 
bull snakes there the preceding week. To be sure, 
these were usually harmless, but they were fright- 
ful enough to be unpleasant company. Besides, 
Frank or Ernest might see her and ask her where 
she was going. 

But the fates speeded her undertaking. No one 
saw her save a few quail and nesting plover that 
whirred up at her approach and tried to lure her 
and the dogs away from their nests by pretending to 
be hurt and running a few paces ahead on the 
ground. Chicken Little had seen this bird ruse too 
often to be fooled by it, but Huz and Buz pursued 
each bird hopefully only to come sneaking back, 
when the mother bird suddenly soared off as soon as 
they had left the nest safely behind. 

“You sillies,” Jane admonished them each time. 
“Won’t you ever learn not to be fooled?” 

She found it delightful to loiter herself. The 
whole day was before her. The wild blackberry 
bushes along the fence still hid bunches of bloom 
among the half-formed berries. Clumps of white 
elderberry blossoms spilled their fragrance, and the 
wind rustling through the long stems of the weeds 
and prairie grass droned monotonous tunes. She 
found tufts of crisp sour sheep sorrel which she 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 47 

liked to nibble, while she made ladies out of the 
flowers, and the pups snapped at the grasshoppers 
and butterflies. Chicken Little was taking her time 
for this expedition. She knew her parents would 
not return before evening, and if Marian hunted 
her up, she would think she had gone down to eat her 
lunch with Frank and Ernest. 

It was almost noon before she entered the belt 
of timber along the creek at the southern boundary 
of their ranch. Across the stream, she knew, lay 
the Clarke ranch, and she had heard the house and 
stables were close to the timber. Jane had resolved 
to call on the Captain, and going on foot, had se- 
lected the shortest route. It was over two miles 
between houses by the road. Further, Chicken 
Little, preferred that her visit should seem acci- 
dental — at least to the Captain. She hardly ex- 
pected to convince her family that she had wan- 
dered over there withouFintending to. But she felt 
sure the Captain would receive her more kindly if 
he thought she were taking a walk and got lost. 
She would be very hot and tired when she arrived, 
and ask for a drink so politely that not even a 
woman-hater would have the heart to let her go on 
without asking her in and offering her some re- 
freshment. 

She had never been in this part of the woods be- 
fore. It was very different from the timber and 


48 Chicken Little Jane 

groves near the ford where they often picnicked in 
summer or went nutting in the fall. There, the 
cattle and hogs had been allowed to range, at cer- 
tain seasons of the year, until most of the thick 
undergrowth was nicely cleared away. But the 
wood, here, was dark and shadowy. Dead branches 
and tree trunks lay where they had fallen or been 
torn down by storms. Weeds and flowers had 
grown up among these, and the wild cucumber vines 
and clematis festooned the rotting logs with feath- 
ery green. It was a wood full of creepy noises 
— noises that made one keep still and listen. The 
coarse grass and herbage were so rank you could 
scarcely see the ground. It looked decidedly snaky, 
Chicken Little reflected dubiously. And water 
moccasins were abundant along the creek, and 
poisonous, as her father had often warned her. 
Chicken Little was usually plucky when she actually 
saw a snake, but the snakes she feared she might 
see, always made her panicky. 

Still she hated to give up anything she had under- 
taken. She stood staring into the thickets for some 
minutes. Huz sat on his haunches beside her and 
stared too, whining occasionally as if he didn’t 
quite like the prospect either. Buz had found a 
gopher hole and was having a merry time trying 
to dig it out. She could hear the creek singing over 
the stones a few rods away. 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 49 

It can t be so awfully far,” she said aloud, “and 
I guess the dogs would scare away the snakes.” 

Something stirred among the weeds near her. 
Chicken Little gave a little scream. But it was 
only a squirrel, as Huz immediately discovered. He 
barked loudly and started in pursuit, which sent Mr. 
Squirrel flying up a tree. Jane set her lips together 
firmly and started forward. 

“There’s no sense in being so scary!” she ad- 
monished Huz. “Snakes most always run away as 
fast as ever they can, anyway.” 

Nevertheless, she picked her way daintily and 
gave a cry of delight when after pushing a short 
distance into the thicket, she found an old rail fence 
apparently leading off in the direction she wished to 
go. She climbed it promptly and worked slowly 
along its zig zag course — a means of locomotion 
that was comfortingly safe, if somewhat slow. The 
pups complained over this desertion for they had to 
worm through the tangle of weeds and brambles 
below. 

They soon reached the creek only to be con- 
fronted by a new problem. There were neither 
stepping stones nor a fallen log to cross upon. 
Chicken Little had to hunt for a shallow place, 
strip off her shoes and stockings, and wade. She 
wore good old-fashioned high laced shoes and lacing 
up was a tedious process. The woods were a little 


Chicken Little Jane 


50 

more open beyond. She had no further need of 
the fence — it had indolently stopped at the creek 
anyhow. But, alas, she had gone but a short way 
farther when she came to the creek again. 

Chicken Little sputtered volubly to the dogs but 
the stream flowed placidly on. There was nothing 
for it, but to take off her shoes and stockings a 
second time, and wade. By the time she had laced 
them, she remembered having heard Frank say that 
the creek was very winding here and kept doubling 
back on its tracks. She was in for it, now, she de- 
cided, and might as well go ahead. It was long 
past noon. She was getting hungry. She did hope 
the woman-hater would offer her something to eat. 
She felt a little doubtful about her looks. Sitting 
down on the damp earth had left sundry grass 
stains and one long black streak on the dainty blue 
lawn, and her hair was wind blown, and mussed 
where some twigs had caught and pulled it. 

Once more Jane unlaced those exasperating 
shoes, drying her feet on a woefully limp and dirty 
handkerchief. This time she lazily wound the lac- 
ings around her ankles until she could be sure the 
creek was safely behind her. Presently she heard 
the cackling of hens and the grunting of pigs that 
assured her she was nearing somebody’s farmyard. 

“Gee, but I’m glad!” she muttered thankfully. 
She sat down and laced her boots neatly, then 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 51 

smoothing her hair and ironing out her rumpled 
dress with nimble fingers, she struck off joyfully in 
the direction of the sounds. She was approaching 
the house from the rear and the barn and out-build- 
mgs were soon visible through the trees. She hur- 
ried forward joyfully only to be confronted by that 
horrible creek flowing once more between her and 
her goal. 

Chicken Little didn’t often lose her temper com- 
pletely, but this was the last straw. “Darn,” she 
exclaimed spitefully, darn you, you old creek, I’d 
like to beat you. I won’t take my shoes off again! 
I just won’t!” 

She scanned the bank carefully to see if she could 
find any rock or log to help her out. Nothing avail- 
able could be seen, but help appeared from a most 
unlooked for quarter. A tall, severe-looking man 
rose from a rustic seat behind a tree which had 
hidden him. 

“Can I be of any service, Miss?” he asked cour- 
teously. 

With an awful sinking of the he.art she realized 
this must be Captain Clarke himself. Oh ! and he 
must have heard her swear. Chicken Little turned 
the color of a very ripe strawberry and stared at 
him in horror. 

A faint flicker of amusement lighted the man’s 
face. 


52 


Chicken Little Jane 


“Just wait an instant and I will put a board over 
for you, if you wish to cross.” 

Jane distinctly did not wish to cross this particu- 
lar moment. She wnshed to run home. 

“Oh, I — I — please don’t go to any trouble, I 
oughtn’t to be here, and please I didn’t mean to 
swear but — but — Mother would be dreadfully 
ashamed of me if she knew.” 

She was telling the whole truth most unexpect- 
edly to herself. Captain Clarke surveyed her 
sharply but his voice seemed kind. 

“You must be Dr. Morton’s daughter. Did you 
get lost?” 

This was an embarrassing question. Jane looked 
at him doubtfully before replying. If she said “yes” 
she would be telling a lie, and if she said “no,” he 
would know she came on purpose. She com- 
promised. 

“I wanted to see your house awfully,” she fal- 
tered. “Ernest said it was most like a ship and 
I’ve never seen a ship,” a sudden remorseful thought 
crept into her mind. “But you mustn’t blame 
Mother; she didn’t know I was coming.” 

The Captain’s eyes lost their severe look — the 
suspicion of a twinkle lurked in their blue depths. 

“I see, you didn’t wish to embarrass Mother, so 
you came without leave. I am honored by your 
visit, Miss ” 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 53 

Jane, but people don’t call me Miss, except 
Dick Harding, and he does it for a joke. I’m only 
thirteen.” 

The Captain was sliding a stout plank across a 
narrow part of the stream. This accomplished, he 
came half way across and held out his hand. 
“Come, I’ll help you over.” 

Chicken Little didn’t in the least need assistance. 
She was as sure-footed as a young goat, but she 
was too much overcome by this delicate attention 
to refuse. Placing her hand gingerly in his, she let 
him lead her across, then followed meekly up to the 
low white house. It was a one-story structure, di- 
vided in the middle by a roofed gallery. The en- 
tire building was surrounded by a broad veranda, 
open to the sky, and enclosed by a rope railing run 
through stout oak posts. The Captain gravely as- 
sisted her up the steps. 

“I call this my quarter-deck,” he explained, see- 
ing the question in her eyes. “I have been accus- 
tomed to pacing a deck for so many years that I 
didn’t feel at home without a stretch of planking 
to walk on.” 

“Oh, isn’t it nice?” I’ve seen pictures of people 
on ships. My mother came from England on a 
sailing vessel. I’m sure I’d just love the ocean !” 

Captain Clarke smiled at her encouragingly but 
made no reply. 


54 Chicken Little Jane 

Chicken Little rambled on nervously. She was 
decidedly in awe of her host but having begun to 
talk, it seemed easier to keep on than to stop. 

“I guess it must be wonderful out at sea when 
the sun is coming up. Sometimes I get up early 
and go out on the prairie to watch it. It just keeps 
on getting lighter and lighter till finally the sun 
bobs up like a great smiling face. I always feel 
as if it were saying ‘Good morning, Jane.’ I sup- 
pose it’s a lot grander at sea where you can’t see 
a single thing but miles and miles of waves. Why, I 
should think you’d feel as if there wasn’t anybody 
in the world but you and God. I always feel a 
lot more religious outdoors than I do in church. 
But Mother says that’s just a notion. But, you 
know, the people are always so funny and solemn 
in church and the ministers most all talk through 
their noses or say ‘Hm-n’ to fill in when they don’t 
know what to say next. But, oh dear, I guess 
you’ll think I’m dreadful! And please don’t think 
I swear that way often. I haven’t for ever so long 
before.” 

The Captain’s face twitched, but he replied 
gravely : 

“Don’t worry about the ‘Darn,’ child, I’ve heard 
worse oaths, though I believe young girls are not 
supposed to use strong language. I feel as you 
do about church and the outdoors. I find it irk- 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit yy 

some to be cooped up anywhere. But come in, and 
I will have Wing Fan give you some pigeon pot- 
pie. We had a famous one for dinner and you 
surely must be hungry. Afterwards, I’ll show you 
through The Prairie Maid as I sometimes call this 
craft.” 

Chicken Little began to feel at home. “And to 
think Ernest said he didn’t like women and girls ! 
Pooh, I knew he was just fooling.” 

Wing Fan found other things beside the pot-pie, 
and Chicken Little was soon feasting luxuriously 
with the Chinaman waiting on her most defer- 
entially. Her host watched her with a keener in- 
terest, had she but known it, than he had shown in 
any human being for many months. 

He was a man of fifty odd. Naturally reticent, 
his long voyages in command of merchant vessels 
had fostered an aloofness and love of solitude, 
which had later been intensified by a great grief. 
His stern bearing had repelled his country neigh- 
bors in the year he had lived on Big John. He was 
satisfied that it should be so, yet he was intensely 
lonely. 

But Chicken Little knew nothing of all this. The 
thick sprinkling of white in his black hair and the 
deep lines in his face, made her entirely comfort- 
able — they were just like Father’s. She was too 
curious to verify Ernest’s tales of the queer house, 


56 Chicken Little Jane 

to give much attention to her host at hrst. She 
stared around her with wide eyes. Yes, there were 
the funny little built-in cupboards and window 
seats, and the plate racks, and the shelves that let 
down with gilt chains. Every single thing was 
painted white. “My, how lovely and clean it all 
looked!” And the blue Chinese panels; she had 
never seen anything like them. And there were five 
pictures of ships. 

Even the dishes were a marvel to her. Jane had 
seen plenty of fine china but never any so curious 
as this old Blue Canton with its landscapes and 
quaint figures. The Captain was pleased with her 
ingenuous admiration. 

When she had finished her dinner, he took her 
across the gallery to his library, a room seldom 
shown to the residents of the creek. Even Ernest 
and Frank hadn’t seen it, Jane learned later. This 
apartment was quite as marvellous as the dining- 
room. A long, low room it was, with many lac- 
quered and carved cabinets and tables. The wall 
space above these was pictureless, but two great 
ivory tusks were crossed over a door-way. Above 
the fireplace rows of weapons were ranged — queer 
swords and daggers with gold and mother-of-pearl 
on their hilts, a ship’s cutlass, several scimitars, and 
the strangest guns and pistols. Chicken Little was 
fascinated with the frightful array. A huge bear- 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 57 

skin lay on the floor among strange, beautifully 
colored rugs, which reminded her of her mother’s 
India shawl. Rugs where queer stiff little men and 
animals that looked as if a child had drawn them, 
wandered about among curlicues and odd geometri- 
cal patterns. A tiger-skin, head and dangling claws 
distressingly lifelike, hung in the middle of one 
wall. She was spell-bound for a few minutes with 
the strangeness of it all. 

Her host seemed to enjoy her wonder. He ex- 
plained most patiently a great compass set on a tri- 
pod in one corner. After she had roamed and gazed 
to her heart’s content, he opened the locked cab- 
inets, and let her take miniature ebony elephants 
from Siam into her hands. He had her look 
through a reading glass at intricate ivory carvings, 
so tiny, it did not seem that human fingers could 
ever have wrought them. There were boxes of 
sandalwood and ugly heathen idols with leering 
faces. The drawers were crowded with prints and 
embroideries. The Captain pulled one out that had 
girl’s things in it. She caught a glimpse of a 
spangled scarf, and fans and laces, even gay-colored 
beads. But he shut this drawer hastily. She did 
not have time to wonder much about this incident 
just then, but she thought about it a good deal af- 
terwards. The things looked quite new as if they 
had never been used. 


Chicken Little Jane 


58 

Chicken Little had natural taste and had read 
more than most girls of her age. She handled the 
Captain’s curios reverently, drinking in eagerly his 
explanations and the strange tales of where he had 
found these wonders. 

So absorbed were they both, that the shadows 
were lengthening before Captain Clarke realized 
the afternoon was slipping away, and that home 
folk might be disturbed if he kept his young guest 
too long. Chicken Little was distressed too. 

“Oh, I’m afraid Father and Mother will get 
home before I do. They’ll be awfully worried!” 

“You mustn’t try to go back through the woods. 
They are too dense to be a very safe route for a 
child, and it would be dark before you could reach 
home. I’ll have one of the men hitch up, and I’ll 
drive you over.” 

Chicken Little commenced to fidget. It would 
not make her coming scolding any lighter, if her 
parents learned that the Captain had felt in duty 
bound to bring her home. But she did not wish to 
be rude and it was a long walk by the road. 

Captain Clarke saw she was disturbed and began 
to laugh. Her naivete charmed him. 

“If my program doesn’t suit you, won’t you tell 
me what is wrong? I haven’t enjoyed anything so 
much in years as your visit, my dear. I should like 
to pay my debt by doing whatever you would like.” 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 59 

Jane was radiant by the time he had finished. 

“Didn’t you truly mind my coming? You 
aren’t just being polite?” 

“Mind? Child, if you ever come to be as lone- 
some and as old as I am, you will know what a 
comfort it has been to have anyone as young and 
sweet and fresh as you are, around. Just a moment, 
I want to show you one thing more.” 

He went into his bedroom and returned with 
an old photograph. It was a likeness of a two- 
year-old child. 

She took a good look at it, then turned to her 
host. 

“It is the picture of the little boy I — I — lost. 
He was my only one. He — he would be seven- 
teen now.” 

“Why that’s just Ernest’s age!” 

“Your brother? The one who was here the 
other evening?” 

“Yes, he was seventeen his last birthday. I’m 
so sorry you lost your little boy.” Chicken Little 
slipped her hand into his to express her sympathy. 

The Captain did not reply except with an an- 
swering pressure. She laid the picture down 
gently. 

“He was a beautiful baby — it almost seems to me 
I’ve seen someone who looks like him — especially 
the eyes. And that merry little twist to his mouth. 


6o 


Chicken Little Jane 


I can’t seem to think who it is.” Jane puckered 
her forehead and the Captain observed her closely. 

“Was it some boy?” He seemed interested in 
this resemblance. 

“Yes, how silly of me not to remember. It’s 
Sherman Dart, one of Ernest’s old friends back in 
Centerville.” 

“Centerville? That is in Illinois, is it not?” 

“Yes, where we used to live. And the eyes are 
exactly like Sherm’s and Sherm always twisted his 
mouth crooked like that when he smiled.” 

“This boy, he wasn’t an orphan, was he?” 

“Oh no, Mr. and Mrs. Dart are both living 
though Mr. Dart’s been sick a long time.” 

The Captain seemed to have lost interest. 

“Well, my dear, am I to have the pleasure of 
driving you home — I’m afraid your parents will be 
distressed about you.” 

Jane had a bright idea. 

“Captain Clarke,” she spoke rather hesitatingly. 

“Yes?” 

“Would you mind — of course it sounds awful of 
me to ask you — but — it’d be so much easier for me 
with Mother if you’d just tell her, oh, what you 
said about my being a comfort and not bothering.” 

Chicken Little was both ashamed and eager. 

The Captain threw back his head and laughed 
until the tears came into his eyes. 


Chicken Little Pays a Visit 61 

“My dear, I’ll make this call all right with your 
mother, never fear, for I want you to come again. 
I am going to ask her if you and Ernest can’t both 
honor me by coming to dinner next Sunday.” 

He was as good as his word but when Chicken 
Little went to bed her mother said sorrowfully: 
‘‘Chicken Little, I shan’t scold you because I prom- 
ised Captain Clarke I would let you off this time — 
but I didn’t think you would do such a thing — be- 
hind my back, too.” 

And her mother had asked Katy and Gertie! 
She had told her after she came home that evening. 




A CHERFCr PENANCE 


Chicken Little awoke the next morning with a 
bad taste in her mouth. She was ashamed to have 
grieved her mother by her escapade the day before, 
especially when Mother was undertaking all this ex- 
tra trouble for her happiness. But she just couldn’t 
be sorry she had gone to the Captain’s! It would 
be something to remember all her life. She gave 
a skip of delight every time she thought of all the 
lovely things — and the Captain’s stories. No, she 
simply couldn’t be sorry, but she knew Mother ex- 
pected her to be sorry. Of course, she might have 
got acquainted with him some other way, but her 
father wouldn’t promise ever to take her. “Little 
girls have too much curiosity for their own good, 
Humbug,” was all she had been able to get from 
him. 


6 2 


A Cherry Penance 63 

She could see at breakfast that Mother expected 
an apology right away. She could feel disapproval 
in her good morning and in the way she kissed her. 
Mother seemed to have the power to make her feel 
mean and guilty all over. But she wasn’t sorry. 

While they were doing the dishes she told her 
mother all about the wonderful things she had seen. 
Mrs. Morton listened in silence. She was waiting. 
Chicken Little heaved a deep sigh and did her best. 

I know it was wrong for me to go without per- 
mission, Mother, and I won’t ever do it again, and 
I think you’re just beautiful to ask Katy and Gertie. 
I’ll help every single bit I can; you see if I don’t.” 

I am glad you realize you did very wrong, little 
daughter, is that all you have to say to me?” 

Chicken Little looked at her Mother and fidgeted. 
Her Mother returned her look gravely. Still she 
couldn’t — it would be fibbing if she did. The silence 
became oppressive. 

“You may go and pick a couple of quarts of cher- 
ries, Jane. Mrs. Morton handed her the tin lard 
pail, searching her face once more. 

It was a glorious June morning and Jane enjoyed 
picking cherries. Marian saw her and came too, 
establishing Jilly comfortably at the foot of the 
tree with a rubber doll and the two pups as com- 
panions. Jilly was usually a placid baby and she 
settled down contentedly to trimming up her doll 


Chicken Little Jane 


64 

with dandelions Buz, the indolent, curled himself 
at her feet and was asleep inside of five minutes, 
but Huz looked up longingly into the tree at Jane. 
He seemed to be racking his doggish brain as to 
the best method of reaching her. He kept making 
little futile leaps, whining impatiently. Finally, he 
stood up on his hind legs, planted his fore paws 
against the tree trunk, and barked dolefully. Jane 
bent down and mischievously dropped a cherry into 
his open mouth. Huz choked, sputtered, and after 
a first rapturous crunch, hastily deposited the acid 
fruit upon the ground. He looked reproachfully 
at Chicken Little. 

“There now,” said Marian, “he’ll never trust 
you again.” Marian raced Chicken Little with the 
cherry picking and the pails were filled far too soon. 

“Jane,” said Marian as she started reluctantly 
back to the house, “if Mother Morton can spare 
you this morning to help me pick them, I believe I’ll 
get some cherries to put up — there are loads ripe 
this morning.” 

“I’d love to, Marian, I’ll take these in and find 
out if she’ll let me.” 

She came flying back in a jifiy with two big milk 
pails. “All right, Mother says I may help you till 
noon.” 

They had a merry morning. The cherry trees 
lined the lane which was also a public road, and sev- 


A Cherry Penance 65 

eral neighbors going by, stopped to exchange a few 
words. Mr. Benton had his joke, for he discov- 
ered Jane swinging up in the topmost boughs and 
reaching still higher for certain unusually luscious 
ones that eluded her covetous fingers. 

“Well, Mrs. Morton,” he said, addressing 
Marian and ignoring Chicken Little, “that’s the 
largest variety of robin I’ve ever seen in these 
parts. I ’low you must have brought the seed from 
the east with you. You wouldn’t mind if I took a 
shot at it, I ’spose. Pears like birds of that size 
must be mighty destructive to cherries.” 

Why Mr. Benton, we shouldn’t like to have you 
kill our birds; we’re attached to them. But you 
are mistaken, that isn’t a robin, it’s a Jane bird— 
they’re rare around here.” 

Mr. Benton laughed and Chicken Little got even 
by hurling a big cluster of cherries at him. She 
aimed them at his lap, but they struck him full in 
the face to her great glee. 

“Well now, them Jane birds ain’t so bad.” Mr. 
Benton remarked eating the fruit with a relish. 

The morning sped by briskly. Jilly created a di- 
version by getting her small self into trouble. 
Marian noticed that she was picking something off 
the tree trunk and putting it into the pocket of her 
little ruffled apron. 


66 Chicken Little Jane 

‘‘What’s Jilly getting there? Can you see, 
Chicken Little?” 

Chicken Little twisted and peered until she could 
take a good look. 

“Why — Marian, I do believe it’s ants! The 
silly baby — they’ll bite her!” 

Marian hurried down the tree to rescue her off- 
spring, but not before Jilly set up a wail of anguish. 

“Naughty sings bite Jilly!” she moaned, as her 
Mother picked the small tormentors off her arms 
and bare legs. But Jilly was a sunny child, and as 
soon as the pain eased, found a smile and remarked 
complacently: “Ants bite Jilly, too bad, too bad!” 

Jane braced herself firmly in a crotch where the 
red fruit was thickest and picked mechanically while 
she unburdened her mind of the previous day’s do- 
ings. She chattered about her adventures till 
Marian could have repeated every word of her con- 
versation with the Captain off by heart, and might 
have given a pretty accurate inventory of his pos- 
sessions, or at least the portion of them that Jane 
had seen. 

Marian was genuinely interested and liked to 
hear Chicken Little tell it all, but she wondered 
what Mrs. Morton had thought about the junketing. 

“But what did your Mother say, dear?” she 
asked finally. 

“She didn’t like it.” 


67 


A Cherry Penance 

You didn’t suppose she would, did vou?” 

“N-o-o, but ” 

“Yes?” 

“I’d never have got to go if I’d waited for per- 
mission. And, Marian,” Chicken Little thought it 
was time to change the subject, “how do you make 
yourself be sorry, when you ought to be and 
aren’t?” 

Marian wanted to laugh but she saw her young 
sister had not intended to be funny. She half 
guessed the situation. 

Why Jane, I hardly know, the old monks used 
to set themselves penances to atone for their sins.” 

“Did it make them really sorry? Do vou 
think?” y 

“Well, yes, I should think it must have or they 
would never have had the courage to persist in 
them. Some of their penances were terribly severe 
such as beating themselves with knotted ropes, but 
I shouldn’t advise anything of that kind for you. 
You might try to make up for your fault in some 
way. Perhaps you might give up something you 
like very much.” 

Jane didn’t say anything more, and it was a day 
or two later before Marian learned the effect of 
her words. 

The cherry trees seemed full as ever after they 
had gathered all Marian wanted, and in the evening 


68 Chicken Little Jane 

Mrs. Morton sent Chicken Little out to gather 
more for her. Marian offered to help her, and 
they were once more aloft in the trees when Mr. 
Benton returned from town. 

Marian began to chuckle. 

“He’ll think we have been here all day, Jane. 
Let’s pretend we have.” 

“Dear me, Mr. Benton, back so soon. How fast 
the day has gone by. Jane, you must be awfully 
hungry, I hadn’t realized it was so late !” 

“Well now, time does beat everything for speed, 
but I ’lowed it was only our ancestors as lived in 
trees all the time, Mrs. Morton. But then I’ve 
heard they’re gettin’ a lot of new-fangled ways 
down east. You’re not calculatin’ to take up your 
residence permanent like in them cherry trees, are 
you? In case you don’t want the cottage any more, 
we might move it over to our place just by way of 
being neighborly.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Benton, I’ll remember your 
kind offer if it ever gets in our way.” 

It was not many days before the mail brought a 
grateful letter from Mrs. Halford, and ecstatic 
ones from the girls, in reply to Mrs. Morton’s in- 
vitation. They would arrive with Alice and Dick 
and Sherm — for Sherm was coming, too — on the 
twentieth. 

“Not quite two weeks. That means we must be- 


A Cherry Penance 69 

gin getting ready at once, and you mustn’t think 
because we have a servant coming, that you won’t 
need to help, Jane. One girl can’t do all the work 
for so many.” 

Chicken Little had not yet said she was sorry 
and her Mother was inclined to be severe with her 
in consequence. Mrs. Morton was rather worried, 
too, because she had seemed pale and listless for 
two or three days past. But when she asked if 
she were not feeling well, Chicken Little had re- 
plied carelessly: 

“Why, I’m all right, Mother.” 

They were hurrying to get the cherry crop cared 
for before the guests arrived. There would be 
enough to do after they came to keep them all busy 
without preserving, Mrs. Morton declared. One 
day when they were seeding cherries, Marian 
noticed that Jane was eating only half ripe ones. 

“What on earth are you eating those green 
things for, child?” 

“Oh, just for fun.” 

“Well, it won’t be funny if you eat many of 
them. I don’t know anything that’ll make you sick 
quicker than green cherries. They’re acid enough 
when they’re ripe.” 

In the hurry of preparing for the guests, Marian 
thought nothing further about it. Three nights 
later, Dr. Morton wakened them at midnight to 


Chicken Little Jane 


70 

know if they had any calomel. “The Chicken’s 
mighty sick,’’ he said. “And I gave the last I had 
to Mrs. Benton for Mary.” 

“I haven’t any calomel, Father, but I’ye got 
some castor oil”, Marian announced after some 
rummaging. 

“That will go hard with Jane, she loathes it. 
But she’ll have to take it down I guess. I can’t 
imagine what ails her, she’s vomiting and has a 
high fever.” 

A sudden recollection struck Marian. 

“Maybe she has been eating too many cherries.” 

“Ripe cherries oughtn’t to hurt her and they 
have been plentiful so long, I shouldn’t think she 
would overeat.” 

“But I have seen her eating them when they 
weren’t ripe. I believe that’s what is the matter.” 

“I hope so, I have been a little afraid of scarlet 
fever from her symptoms.” Dr. Morton seemed 
relieved. 

When he had gone, Marian turned to Frank. 
She had been recalling several things and putting 
them together. 

“Frank Morton, I verily believe that sister of 
yours has been eating half-ripe cherries for a 
penance.” 

“Penance? Penance for what?” 


A Cherry Penance 71 

I don t exactly know, but it has something to 
do^ with her running off to the Captain’s.” 

Well, if she s as big a fool as all that, she de- 
serves to have a stomach ache. Come, stop wor- 
rying.’’ 

But Frank, I m afraid I’m the guilty one who 
suggested the idea to her. Goodness knows, I 
hadn’t the slightest intention of doing so.” Marian 
related the whole story. 

Well, Sis certainly gets queer notions into her 
head, but it may not be that at all. Anyhow, you 
can’t do anything to-night.” 

A very pallid forlorn girl sat propped up in bed 
about noon the following day. The family, having 
discovered that it was nothing serious, and that she 
had probably brought it on by her own folly, were 
not sympathetic. 

“What in the dickens did you want to go and eat 
green cherries for, when there were pounds and 
pounds of ripe ones going to waste on the trees?” 
Ernest’s look of utter disgust was hard to bear. 

Frank came over with a handful of minute green 
walnuts interspersed with a choice assortment of 
gooseberries and green plums. He handed them to 
her with a mocking bow. 

“In case you get hungry, Jane dear, I thought 
you might like to have a supply of your favorite 
food on hand.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


72 

Chicken Little thanked him spunkily, but when 
the door closed behind him, she buried her face in 
the pillow and mourned over her woes. 

‘Til never try to be good again, so there, and I 
think they’re all just as mean as can be.” 

Her pillow was getting wetter and wetter and 
her spirits closer and closer to zero, when the door 
gently opened and her father came in. 

“Why Chicken Little, crying? This won’t do. 
Come, tell Father what’s the matter. You aren’t 
feeling worse, are you?” 

Chicken Little swallowed hard and did her best 
to choke back the tears, but the tears having been 
distinctly encouraged for the past ten minutes had 
too good a start to be easily checked. Dr. Morton 
gathered her into his arms and patted and soothed 
her till she was able to summon a moist smile. 

“Hurry up and tell me now — a trouble shared 
is a trouble half cured, you know.” 

But Jane was beginning to be ashamed of her- 
self. 

“ ’Tisn’t anything really, Father, only I feel so 
miserable and the boys have been making fun of 
me. 

“Making fun, what about?” 

“Oh, just because.” 

“Because what, out with it!” 

“Because I ate green cherries, I suppose.” 


A Cherry Penance 73 

How long have you been eating green cherries, 
Jane?” 

Jane considered. “Most a week.” 

“And don’t you think you deserve to be laughed 
at, for doing anything so foolish?” 

They didn t laugh at the monks — and they were 
grown-up men.” 

“Monks? What do you mean?” 

“Well, I just guess they did things that made 
them sicker than eating green cherries, and I didn’t 
intend to eat enough to make me sick, but I didn’t 
seem to feel any sorrier and ” 

Chicken Little was stopped suddenly by the ex- 
pression of her Father’s face. He tried to control 
himself but the laugh would come. 

When they had finally got the atmosphere cleared 
a bit, he inquired, still smiling: “Well, are you 
sorry now you went to the Captain’s?” 

Chicken Little smiled back. “No, I’m just sorry 
I grieved Mother.” 

“Then suppose we vote this penance idea a fail- 
ure and don’t try it again.” 

The next few days were so full of the bustle of 
preparation that Jane soon forgot she had ever been 
sick. Further, there was a mystery on foot. She 
and Ernest had not been permitted to accept the 
Captain’s invitation to dinner for reasons that Mrs. 
Morton explained with great care to that gentleman. 


Chicken Little Jane 


74 

But he had been invited over to dine with them. He 
was so reserved and silent on this occasion that 
both Mrs. Morton and Marian wondered at Jane’s 
devotion. After dinner he had a long conversation 
with Dr. Morton and Ernest, and no teasing on 
Jane’s part could extract the faintest hint from 
either as to what it had been about. 

“It was about your going to Annapolis, I bet.” 

“Nope, you’re a long way off. We didn’t say 
anything more than what you and Mother heard. 
Father’s written to the Senator. Captain Clarke 
got him all enthused; the Captain promised to 
write, too. But you’ll never guess the other, and 
it has something to do with you.” 

She had been obliged to give it up. Ernest had 
at length reached an age where he could keep a 
secret. The exasperating part of it was that Ernest 
was going over to Captain Clarke’s every evening 
and she wasn’t asked once. Her pride was so hurt 
that she came near being sorry she had gone to see 
the Captain. 

The evening before the fateful twentieth, Mrs. 
Morton and Jane were putting the last touches on 
the guest room and on Chicken Little’s own cham- 
ber, which Katy and Gertie were to share with her. 
The fresh fluted muslin curtains were looped back 
primly. The guest room had been freshly papered 
with a dainty floral design, in which corn flowers 


A Cherry Penance 75 

and wheat ears clustered with faint hued impossible 
blossoms, known only to designers. Both rooms 
looked fresh and cool and summery, and 
the windows opening out upon the garden and or- 
chard revealed also wide stretches of the prairie 
beyond. 

Chicken Little had re-arranged the furniture in 
her room at least six times in a resolute endeavor 
to get the best possible effect. Marian had given 
her a picture of some long stemmed pink roses that 
exactly matched the buds in her paper, and she had 
begged an old Japanese fan from her Mother. This 
was decorated with a remarkably healthy pink sun- 
set on a gray green ground, and she tacked it up as a 
finishing touch above the bed lounge, which was 
destined to be a bone of contention among the three 
little girls for the remainder of the summer. At 
first, not one of the three was willing to be cast 
upon this desert island of a bed, while the other 
two were whispering secrets in the big walnut four- 
poster. But as the weather grew hotter, the ad- 
vantages of sleeping alone became more obvious, 
and they had to settle the matter by taking turns. 
Chicken Little did her very best to make her room 
look like the Captain’s, but except for her Mother’s 
concession of fresh white paint, a few books on a 
shelf, and the foreign fan, it was hard to detect 
any very marked resemblance. Nevertheless, both 


76 Chicken Little Jane 

Jane and her Mother gazed upon their handiwork 
with deep satisfaction. 

“If Annie will only stay through the summer,” 
sighed Mrs. Morton, “she is doing so beautifully 
I’m afraid she is too good to last. But I mustn’t 
borrow trouble. If she deserts me, our guests will 
simply have to turn in and help, much as I should 
dislike to have them.” 

Ernest came in to supper so excited he could 
scarcely eat. And Dr. Morton seemed almost as 
interested as Ernest. They were both provokingly 
mysterious during the entire meal, talking over 
Jane’s head in a way that was maddening. 

“Does Mother know?” she demanded finally. 

“Yes, Mother knows. I tell Mother when I go 
over to the Captain’s.” 

“Come now, Ernest, that’s been harped on 
enough,” said Dr. Morton, then turning to 
Jane, “If you will hurry and get into your rid- 
ing habit, you shall know the secret inside of 
an hour.” 

It is needless to say that Chicken Little hurried. 
The black brilliantine skirt fairly flew over her 
head, the border of shot in its hem rapping her 
rudely as it slid to the floor with a thud. 

“Oh dear, I don’t see why girls have to wear 
such long, silly skirts and ride side-wise. It’s so 
much easier to ride man fashion.” 


77 


A Cherry Penance 

Chicken Little had been permitted to ride man 
fashion since she had been on the ranch, for safety. 
But this year her Mother had decided she was too 
big to be playing the boy any longer, and had made 
her a woman’s habit, in spite of the Doctor’s pro- 
tests. Jane was proud of the smart basque with its 
long tails and glittering rows of steel buttons, but 
she loathed the skirt. 

Hastily fastening the black velvet band with its 
dangling jet fringe below her stiff linen collar, she 
cast a parting glance at the oval mirror and skur- 
ried down the stairs, not stopping for such small 
matters as gloves or cap or even her beloved riding 
whip. Ordinarily, she would not have budged with- 
out the whip. It had been a Christmas present from 
Ernest and was her special pride. Her haste was 
in vain. After one look, her Mother sent her back 
for cap and gloves. “I do not wish my daughter 
riding around bareheaded like some half wild thing. 
I don’t mind on the ranch, but when you go abroad 
I wish you to look like a lady.” 

Jane reluctantly obeyed and did not forget the 
whip this time. She had a fresh rebuff when she 
reached the road. Instead of the saddle horses she 
expected to see, Dr. Morton and Ernest were await- 
ing her in the spring wagon. 

“Why, Father, I thought you said to put on my 
riding habit.” 


78 Chicken Little Jane 

“Maybe I did. But never mind, jump in just as 
you are — it’s getting a little late.” 

Chicken Little tried to hide her disappointment. 
She maintained a dignified silence until they had 
crossed the ford and Ernest turned the horses 
toward Captain Clarke’s. 

“Oh, it’s at the Captain’s.” 

Her Father nodded and began talking carelessly 
to Ernest about putting the orchard in clover an- 
other year. She saw there was no information to 
be had, until he was good and ready. Ernest took 
pity on her, however, just as they turned in the Cap- 
tain’s gate. 

“In exactly six minutes you will see the surprise, 
even if you don’t recognize it.” 

Chicken Little strained her eyes half expecting 
to see Katy or Gertie appear miraculously from no- 
where. But they drove into the door yard without 
seeing anything or anybody that could possibly in- 
terest her. 

The Captain was evidently watching for them. 
He helped her down from the high wagon in his 
most courtly manner. 

“I am consumed with curiosity to know 
whether you have pried the secret from that 
brother of yours. I infer you have from your 
habit.” 

“Habit?” Jane glanced swiftly from her host’s 


79 


A Cherry Penance 

quizzical face to her father and Ernest. They were 
both smiling broadly. 

Oh, it has something to do with horses — 
but ” 

She never finished the sentence for at that moment 
one of the Captain’s hands appeared leading two 
Indian ponies, one a red and white piebald with a 
red blanket and side saddle; the other a black, with 
a blue blanket and a Mexican cowboy’s equipment. 

She stared at the horses and she stared at the 
Captain, not daring to even hope what had come 
into her mind. Captain Clarke took the bridle off 
the piebald and held down his hand for her foot. 

“Up with you, I have persuaded your Father to 
share his children with me to the extent of letting 
me add something to your pleasure and that of your 
guests this summer. Ernest, however, has left me 
his debtor in advance, for he has not only finished 
breaking these in to the saddle but he has tamed 
the worst-tempered colt on the place as well.” 

Chicken Little was surpised to see Ernest flush 
up and stammer. 

“Why I — I don’t want any pay — I was glad to 
help out a neighbor.” 

“That’s exactly what I am going to ask you to 
do, my boy, to help me out by letting me feel that 
I can still give somebody pleasure. The ponies are 
part of a large herd I bought in Texas and cost 


8o 


Chicken Little Jane 


me very little. I have argued this all out with your 
Father and he understands my feeling. Won’t you 
be as generous?” , 

Before Ernest could answer, Chicken Little 
reached up both arms and gave the speaker a hug 
and a kiss that were warm enough to satisfy the 
loneliest heart. Before she had released him, Er- 
nest had hold of his hand and was trying to make 
up by the vigor of his hand shake for the embar- 
rassing dumbness which had seized him. 

Dr. Morton relieved the situation by remarking 
mischievously : 

“Ask Ernest who’s surprised now, Chicken 
Little?” 



THE GUESTS ARRIVE 

The Morton family were up early the next morn- 
ing- Jane was in a state of prickly excitement be- 
tween her delight over her wonderful pony, all her 
very own, and the expected pleasure of seeing Katy 
and Gertie. 

“If the others have grown as much as you kids, 
we shan’t recognize them,” said Frank. 

“Anyhow, we can tell which bunch to cut out by 
Alice and Dick,” Ernest answered. 

Mrs. Morton was horrified. “Ernest, the idea 
of your talking about our friends as if they were 
cattle! I do trust you children will not mortify 
me before our guests by using such vulgar expres- 
sions.” 

“Never mind, Mother,” Frank consoled her, 
“Alice and Dick will revel in these vulgar western- 
81 


82 


Chicken Little Jane 


isms. See if they don’t. Why Mother, it’s by slang 
that a language is enriched, didn’t you know that?” 

“That will do, Frank. I should think you would 
try to help me keep up correct standards instead of 
hindering. You will feel very differently when 
Jilly is a little older.” 

The train was due at two-thirty at the neighbor- 
ing town of Garland — the neighboring town being 
some nine miles distant. They decided to have an 
early dinner at home, then Dr. Morton would drive 
the spring wagon in for the guests, Frank would 
take the farm wagon for the trunks, while Jane and 
Ernest formed a sort of ornamental body guard on 
their new ponies. 

“My, but you present an imposing appearance!” 
laughed Marian coming out to the road with Jilly 
to see them off. 

“We do look rather patriarchal,” said Frank, 
glancing around at the impressive array. “If we 
only had you and Mother mounted on donkeys, the 
reception committee would be complete. I will do 
my best to apologize for your absence.” 

“If you are late, send Jane on ahead, they can 
see her a mile off on that calico pony.” 

“The piebald is conspicuous,” said the Doctor, 
“I guess Captain Clarke picked him out for the 
Chicken so her mother could see her from afar.” 

Chicken Little ignored this pleasantry. “Thank 


The Guests Arrive 83 

you for saying calico, Marian. I was just wonder- 
ing what to call him and that will do beautifully.” 

“Oh, have some mercy on the poor beast,” put 
in Ernest. Think of his having to answer to the 
name of Calico. Why don’t you call him gingham 
apron or something really choice?” 

“Allee eamee, his name’s Calico. If you want 
to call yours, Star of the Night or Aladdin or some- 
thing high falutin, you just can.” Jane set her lips 
firmly. She didn’t specially care for Calico but she 
wasn’t going to be laughed out of it. 

“That will do, children, it’s time to be off.” Dr. 
Morton suited the action to the word by clucking 
to the team of bays he drove, and the procession 
started. 

They reached the station in good time. Both Er- 
nest and Chicken Little wanted to stay on their 
mounts and dash up beside the train, but their 
father forbade it. 

“Those ponies have never been properly intro- 
duced to an engine, and I don’t wish to take you 
back in baskets. You can show off sufficiently going 
home.” 

So the ponies were left with the teams at a safe 
distance from the railroad. 

The train was twenty minutes late and it seemed 
an age to Chicken Little. “I don’t see why you 
always have to wait for nice things, while the un- 


Chicken Little Jane 


84 

pleasant ones come along without ever being 
asked.” she complained. 

“What about the ponies? Do you class them 
with the unpleasant things?” queried her father. 
“But here comes the train.” 

Jane watched it puff in with a roar and a rattle 
and sundry bangs, her eyes strained for the first 
glimpse of Katy and Gertie, Alice and Dick. She 
really didn’t know which one she wanted to see 
worst. 

“Bet Sherm will be the first one out,” said Ernest. 

“Bet you Katy will!” 

But it was Dick who hailed them first, before 
he turned to help down the little girls. Alice came 
next, with Sherm who was still rather bashful, 
bringing up the rear loaded down with satchels and 
lunch baskets. Katy and Gertie fell upon Chicken 
Little instantly and Alice had to embrace the whole 
bunch, because they kept on hugging and kissing 
Jane, laughing hysterically. 

“Here, where do I come in?” Dick rescued Jane 
from her friends and gave her a resounding smack 
himself. After which he held up his hands and 
exclaimed : “Say, Doctor Morton, what do you feed 
these infants on to make them grow so fast? Jane’s 
a half head taller than either Katie or Gertie and 
we thought Sherm would surely top Ernest. In 
fact, we had our money on him to beat any of your 


The Guests Arrive 85; 

mushroom Kansas effects, but Holy Smoke, I have 
to look up to Ernest myself.” 

Alice and Katie and Gertie were looking at 
Jane s riding habit, Gertie in considerable alarm. 

We don’t have to ride to the ranch on horse- 
back, do we?” 

Before the doctor could reassure them, Frank re- * 
plied gravely : 

“Of course, what did you expect in Kansas? 
We’ve brought six horses and we thought two of 
the girls could ride in front of Dick and myself. 
It’s only nine miles and the horses don’t gallop all 
the way.” 

The girls looked panic-stricken, even Alice 
seemed a little dazed, Frank was so very plausible. 
Dick helped him on delightfully. 

“I told you, Alice, you’d better put your riding 
habit in your satchel. I suppose the horses are gen- 
tle, Frank.” 

“Oh, they don’t often throw anyone that’s used 
to them. Naturally, they’re a little gayer in sum- 
mer when they’re in the pasture so much.” 

Ernest could not resist adding his bit. “I was 
thrown three times last week, would you like to try 
my pony, Katy ?” 

This revealed the game to Alice. 

“You awful fibbers, don’t you believe a word 
they say, girls.” 


86 


Chicken Little Jane 

“Honest Injun,” said Ernest, “I was.” 

“It’s the truth,” Frank confirmed. 

Poor little Gertie, who was already beginning to 
realize that she was very far from home and in a 
strange land besides, commenced to cry. 

Dr. Morton came promptly to the rescue. 

“That’ll do, boys. Save your joking till our 
guests are rested from their journey at least. Frank, 
you and Dick look up the trunks while Ernest and 
Sherm help me bring up the wagons. It’s all right, 
dear,” he put his arm reassuringly around Gertie,’ 
you shall ride in one of the most comfort- 
able of vehicles if we haven’t a carriage to 
offer you. You mustn’t pay any attention to their 
teasing.” 

After the first two miles of their homeward jour- 
ney, Chicken Little gave up her pony to Sherm and 
climbed in with the girls. Ernest offered to change 
saddles, but Sherm declared he didn’t mind the side 
saddle and cheerfully bore all the jokes the party 
cut at his expense. Dr. Morton watched him ap- 
provingly. “Good stuff,” he said to himself, as 
Sherm returned the sallies without wincing. The 
boy’s long legs dangling from the side saddle were 
a comical sight. Sherm, if not quite so tall as Er- 
nest, was rather better proportioned and delight- 
fully supple and muscular. He was the same mat- 
ter-of-fact, straight-forward boy he had always been, 


The Guests Arrive 87 

but his father’s long illness had sobered him, though 
he could be hilarious, as he was proving now. 

“Say, Sherm,” Katy prodded, “why don’t you 
borrow Jane’s riding skirt too?” 

“Yes, Sherm, go the lengths — you’d make a beau- 
tiful girl,” teased Alice. 

Sherm laughed. “Chicken Little may have some- 
thing to say to that!” 

“I thought you’d be making excuses.” 

Sherm was not to be bluffed. “Not much, hand 
it over, Chicken Little.” 

“You # never can get into it, Sherm.” 

“What’ll you bet?” 

“It’ll be too small around the waist.” 

Dr. Morton stopped and Jane hastily slipped off 
the skirt, presenting rather a funny appearance her- 
self with her habit basque and the blue lawn dress 
showing beneath. Sherm dismounted, turning Cal- 
ico over to Ernest to hold. The entire party 
shouted when Jane reached up on tiptoe to throw 
the clumsy skirt over his head. Sherm neglected to 
hold it, and the shot in the hem promptly dropped 
it to the ground. 

“Gee,” exclaimed Sherm, “the cranky thing 
seems to have a mind of its own.” 

“I don’t know what the girls want to wear the 
pesky things for,” grumbled Ernest. 

“They don’t want to wear them — but their pe r - 


88 


Chicken Little Jane 


nickity brothers and fathers and husbands consider 
them modest,” Alice hit back promptly. 

“I consider them very dangerous,” said Dr. 
Morton. 

While this bantering was going on, Chicken Little 
was vainly endeavoring to fasten the band around 
Sherm’s waist. 

“You’ll just have to squeeze in, Sherm. I can 
never make it meet,” she giggled. 

“I’m squeezing in, I tell you.” 

With a triumphant pull, Jane got the band but- 
toned and Sherm heaved a sigh of relief — a dis- 
astrous sigh — it sent the button flying and the 
weighted skirt once more slid to the ground. 

“Drat it!” Sherm groaned. 

“Now, you said you’d wear it. Don’t let him 
back out, Chicken Little,” Katy urged. 

“Who said anything about backing out?” 

“You’ll have to get a string, Jane. Haven’t you 
a piece in your pocket, Frank?” 

Frank produced the string and by dint of using 
it generously, the skirt was finally secured and 
Sherm still allowed some breathing room. 

But the girls were not yet satisfied. Katy in- 
sisted upon lending him her leghorn hat and Alice 
contributed a veil. Gertie offered a hair ribbon 
which Chicken Little slyly pinned to the collar of 
Sherm’s coat. 


The Guests Arrive 89 

He was a sight for the gods when he finally re- 
mounted. But he carried it off with a dash, assum- 
ing various kittenish airs and coquetries, even wav- 
ing saucily at two cowboys who passed them and 
turned to stare in bewilderment at his bizarre cos- 
tume. 

The ride home passed quickly with all this fun. 
Gertie cheered up and enjoyed the prairie sights as 
much as the others. Gertie seemed the same little 
girl of three years before except for her added 
inches, but Katy had many little grownup airs and 
graces and evidently felt the importance of her 
fourteen years. 

“Almost fifteen,” she answered Dr. Morton 
when he inquired her age. The two girls were 
dressed alike still, but Katy managed in some subtle 
way to give her clothes a different air from Gertie’s. 
“I don’t know just what the difference is,” Marian 
remarked to Alice a day or two after their coming, 
“but Katy is stylish and Gertie demurely sweet in 
the self-same dress.” 

“Personality will out, even in children,” Alice re- 
plied. “They are both unusually bright and well 
brought up, but Katy is ambitious and likes to cut 
a bit of a dash, and Gertie doesn’t. She is a home 
and mother girl. I am amazed that she screwed up 
her courage to come so far without her mother. I 
fear she is already a trifle homesick, though she 


Chicken Little Jane 


go 

is enjoying every minute, and is enchanted with the 
chickens and pups and all this outdoor life.” 

Chicken Little found out these things more grad- 
ually. On the long ride home from the station they 
chattered busily. All three felt a little shy for the 
first minutes but there was so much to tell. Katy 
had finished her freshman year in the High School 
and spun great tales of their doings. Carol had 
graduated the week before. 

“He is awfully handsome, Chicken Little. All 
the girls are mashed on him.” 

“Are what, Katy?” demanded Alice who had been 
listening to Dick and Dr. Morton with one ear open 
for the girl’s confidences. She felt rather re- 
sponsible to Mrs. Halford for Katy and Gertie. 

Katy colored. “I don’t care, Alice, that’s what 
all the girls say, and I can’t be goody-goody and 
proper all the time.” 

“All right, Katy, if you think Mother likes that 
kind of slang, I don’t mind.” 

Katy didn’t say anything further to Alice, but 
when she resumed her story to Jane, she said: 
“Well, I don’t care what you call it, but they all 
are ! And he just smiles in that lazy way of his 
and doesn’t put himself out for anybody. He 
didn’t even take a girl to the senior party, and lots 
of the Senior girls had to go in a bunch because they 
didn’t have an escort.” 


The Guests Arrive 91 

“But he had awfully good marks,” added Gertie, 
“and Prof. Slocum said he could Have been Vale- 
dictorian just as well as not if he had tried a little 
harder.” 

“That’s the trouble — he’s too lazy to try. I guess 
if he goes to the Naval Academy as he wants to, 
he’ll have to get over being lazy.” Katy evidently 
wasted no sympathy on Carol. 

The mention of the Naval Academy fired Jane. 
She shouted the news to Ernest who was some dis- 
tance ahead with Sherm. 

“Yes, Sherm’s just told me,” he called back, 
“wouldn’t it be scrumptious if we both got to go?” 

“Oh, is Ernest going?” Katy and Alice and Dick 
all exclaimed nearly in unison. 

Chicken Little told them all about Ernest’s plans 
and about the Captain. Katy wished to call on this 
fascinating individual immediately. But Dr. Mor- 
ton suggested that he thought they would all be 
tired enough to rest for the remainder of the day 
by the time they arrived at the ranch. They were, 
but not too tired to enjoy Mrs. Morton’s hearty 
country supper. 

Dick ate hot biscuit and creamed potatoes and 
fried chicken till Alice declared she shouldn’t have 
the face to stay a month, if he gorged like that all 
the time. 

“You’ll stop keeping tab on his appetite before 


92 Chicken Little Jane 

you have been here many days, Alice. You’ll be 
busy satisfying your own. You will find country 
air a marvellous tonic,” Dr. Morton assured her. 

They were all amused to see Katy looking in 
shocked amazement at Gertie who had just been 
persuaded to have a second heaping saucer of rasp- 
berries and cream. To be sure, Katy herself had 
had two drumsticks and a breast. But she consid- 
ered being served twice to dessert away from home 
> highly improper. 

“I wish it were a little later in the season so Er- 
nest could bring us in quail for you,” said Mrs. 
Morton. 

“Quail?” Dick’s face lighted. “Is the hunting 
still good around here?” 

“Excellent for quail and prairie chicken, and the 
plover are plentiful at certain seasons,” Dr. Mor- 
ton replied. 

“They found two deer on the creek last winter,” 
added Ernest. 

“Yes, there are a few strays left but the day for 
them has practically gone by.” 

“Dick, if you go hunting you’ve got to take me.” 
Alice put her hands on her husband’s shoulders and 
rested her chin on his hair. 

“Barkus is willing if you can stand the tramp.” 

“We don’t tramp, we drive. It’s a trifle too 
early for hunting, but by the latter part of next 


The Guests Arrive 93 

week, you might try it. You can take the boys and 
spring wagon and have an all-day picnic, I can 
spare them, and Ernest for a guide.” 

Can we all go?” Katy started up excitedly. 

“Of course, I can shoot a little,” Chicken Little 
sounded patronizing. 

Yes, Chicken Little can shoot but she never hits 
anything — she always shuts her eyes before she 
pulls the trigger,” Ernest called her down promptly. 

“It’s no such thing, Ernest Morton, I killed a 
quail once, didn’t I, Father?” 

“Dick, if you’ll come and unrope our trunks, I 
think we’d better be getting our things out,” said 
Alice an hour later. 

“Yours to command, Captain. I am perishing to 
have Chicken Little see my present.” 

“Yes, Jane, what do you think? Dick had to go 
and pick you out a gift all by himself — he wasn’t 
satisfied with my efforts. And he has the impu- 
dence to insist that you will like his best.” 

“We’ve got a package for you, too, but I don’t 
know what’s in it. Mother wouldn’t let us see. 
Let’s go unpack quick, Gertie, and find out.” 

“And I want to show my trousseau ! Shall I get 
it out to-night, Mrs. Morton, or wait till morning?” 

“To-night, Alice,” spoke up Marian, “I want to 
see it and I’ll be busy in the morning. I am pining 
to see some pretty clothes.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


94 

Dick had already vanished into the upper regions 
and he called down airily: “Doors open, ladies. 
World renowned aggregation of feminine wearing 
apparel, including one pair of the very latest hoops 
and the youngest thing in bustles, now on exhibi- 
tion.” 

Mrs. Morton looked shocked, and Marian and 
Alice tried to control their amusement. “The 
heathen, I warned him to be good. Alice laughed 
in spite of herself with an apologetic glance at Mrs. 
Morton. The girls had bolted upstairs at the first 
words of Dick’s invitation. 

“Come on, Mother, don’t mind Dick’s nonsense,” 
said Marian, linking her arm in hers and gently 
drawing her up. “It will do you good to see Alice’s 
pretty things.” 

Dick held the door open for them with a deep 
salaam. Alice held up a finger warningly with an 
imperceptible gesture in Mrs. Morton’s direction. 
He shrugged his shoulders repentantly. 

“Now, Alice, if you’ll just dig out my particular 
parcel I’ll vamoose. Women complain that men 
never take an interest in their affairs and then if 
a misguided chap tries to act intelligent, he is 
snubbed.” Dick’s tone sounded injured. 

Alice kissed the tip of his ear and shoved him 
out of the way. “You’re so big, Dick, there’s 
never room for anyone else when you’re around.” 


The Guests Arrive 95 

Alice deftly opened trays and lids, pulling out 
protecting papers; she handed Dick a large flat 
parcel. 

Dick received it with his hand on his heart, then 
striking an oratorical attitude, addressed Jane in 
the formal tone, he used in court. 

“Ladies, Miss Chicken Little Jane Morton, I 
have the great honor on this suspicious occasion 
to present to you on behalf of my unworthy self, 
a slight testimonial of my deep respect and undying 
affection — Alice, stop winking at Marian — Mrs. 
Morton, is it fitting for a wife to stop the flow of 
her husband’s eloquence by winking? I wish you’d 
take Alice in hand. I think she needs some lessons 
in the proprieties. As I was saying, I wish to pre- 
sent this trifle to you, and the only expression of 
gratitude I desire in return, is thirty kisses 
to be delivered one daily, on or before the 
twelfth hour of each day, to which witness my seal 
and hand.” 

With another bow, he resigned the parcel to 
Chicken Little. 

She promptly tendered one kiss in advance. Then 
stripped off the papers with eager fingers. A charm- 
ing white leghorn hat appeared. It was faced with 
pale blue and trimmed with knots of apple blos- 
soms and black velvet ribbon. 

“How charming!” exclaimed Mrs. Morton. 


g6 Chicken Little Jane 

“Dick, I didn’t suppose you had such good taste !” 
added Marian. 

“Try it on quick, Chicken Little.” 

Chicken Little’s shining eyes and clear, fair skin 
fitted like a charm under the pale blue. 

Dick was jubilant. “I saw that hat in a shop 
window and I thought it looked exactly like Chicken 
Little. Who says a man can’t pick out a hat?’ 

He departed without waiting for any disparaging 
remarks. 

Alice’s present came next, a charming muslin with 
sash and hair ribbons the exact shade of the blue 
hat facing. 

“If it only fits, Jane. I left some to let out in the 
hem, but you are bigger every way than I thought. 

I tried it on Katie.” 

“Changing it a little at the waist will make it 
perfect,” Marian reassured her. 

“Oh, I am so glad it is snug, and just the right 
length, Alice. Mother — ” Chicken Little stopped 
suddenly, she couldn’t be criticising mother before 
company. “You see I grow so dreadfully fast that 
Mother has to make everything too big so it’ll last 
a while.” 

Marian supplemented this explanation later to 
Alice. 

“Poor child, Mother Morton does make her 
clothes too big! And it doesn’t do a bit of good 


The Guests Arrive gj 

for they hang on her the whole season and by the 
next they re either worn or faded — and she gener- 
ally manages to out-grow them, in spite of their big- 
ness.” 

The girl s parcel was found to contain candy and 
a duck of a fan. 

But Alice s wedding things soon put everything 
else in the shade. The dainty sets of underwear 
with their complicated puffs and insertings frilled 
petticoats, silk and muslin and poplin gowns, hats 
and parasols, lay in a rainbow colored heap on the 
bed and chairs. 

Alice,” said Marian, caressing some of the 
dainty lingerie, “who is going to iron all these 'puffs 
and ruffles? It would take hours to do them right, 
especially the petticoats.” 

I know, Marian — I asked Aunt Clara the same 
question. And do you know what I have done?” 

Her audience looked interested. 

I just went down town the minute I got to Cen- 
terville and got some nice strong muslin and I’ve 
been making it up perfectly plain except for a tiny 
edge. They are heaps more comfortable — and I 
wear these others for best. Why, I couldn’t keep 
a maid and hurl all that stuff at her every week!” 

“Are they wearing hoops pretty generally?” Mrs. 
Morton inquired as Alice laughingly held a pair up 
for inspection. 


98 Chicken Little Jane 

“Yes, and bustles too. See this buff poplin with 
the panniers just has to have a bustle. Thank good- 
ness they’re young yet, as Dick says, but I suppose 
they’ll keep on getting bigger.” 

“Oh, I should think they’d be so hot and horrid.” 

“They are, but the hoops are delightfully cool, 
only you have to be on your guard with the treach- 
erous things or they swing up in front when you sit 
down, in a most mortifying fashion.” 

“I have a pair to wear with my muslin dresses — 
It makes them stand out beautifully,” said Katy 
complacently. “But Mother wouldn’t let Gertie 
have any. She said she was too young.” 

“I didn’t want the old things,” Gertie protested. 
“And you wouldn’t have got yours if you hadn’t 
teased perfectly awful, and I heard Mother say 
she guessed you’d soon be sick enough of them.” 

“I agree entirely with your mother, Gertie, I con- 
sider them unsuitable for little girls. But they do 
set off a handsome dress to advantage. I remem- 
ber during the war we used to wear such large ones 
we could hardly get through a door with them.” 

“Mother Morton, I bet you were a lot more 
frivolous than we are now.” Marian put her hand 
lovingly on the wrinkled one that was smoothing 
the folds of a rich silk. 

Mrs. Morton smiled. “Well, we had our pretty 
things. Alice’s dresses are lovely, but she hasn’t 


The Guests Arrive gg 

anything more elegant than my second day dress. 
It was a brown and silver silk brocade with thread 
lace chemisette and under sleeves. And my next 
best was apple green and pink changeable, trimmed 
in yards and yards of narrow black velvet ribbon 
all sewed on by hand.” 

“How I should love to have seen them!” Alice 
smiled wistfully. You know I didn’t have any of 
my mother’s things.” 

“Come on, girls, it’s getting late, let’s help Alice 
put her treasures away. They couldn’t 'be nicer, 
Alice, and I think you are going to be a very happy 
woman to make up for that desolate girlhood of 
yours.” 

Marian was already folding the garments. They 
were soon laid away snugly in trunk and closet and 
drawers, and the whole family packed off to bed 
to be ready for the early farm breakfast on the 
morrow. 




HAPTER_ VI 
A HUNTING 
PARTY 


The day following the arrival of the guests was 
spent in resting and seeing the ranch. Katy and 
Gertie had never been on a large farm before, and 
the thousand acres of field and prairie and wood- 
land, seemed as marvellous as the tales they had 
read of the big English estates. Alice and Dick 
were also fascinated by all this space and freedom, 
but they saw deeper than the little girls. 

“It’s a wonderful place,” said Dick, “and I don’t 
wonder the Doctor is proud of it. But he is too 
well along in years to handle such a big undertaking. 
I doubt if the ranch pays for ten years to come, and 
it means hard work and a lonely life for all of 
them. It’s all right for Frank and Marian, but 
I’m sorry for the rest of the family.” 

“Mrs. Morton is growing old fast with all this 


101 


A Hunting Party 

unaccustomed drudgery, and she is worried about 
the children’s education, I can see,” replied Alice. 

“Yes, there are two sides to it. I guess we’ll 
stick to the law and little old Centerville; we may 
not die rich, but we’ll be a lot more comfortable 
as we go along.” 

Sherm took to the farm like the proverbial duck 
to the pond. He donned overalls that first morn- 
ing and was off with Frank and Ernest to the fields 
before the little girls were out of bed. After break- 
fast Jane took Katie and Gertie to see the sights 
of the ranch. First to the spring under the old oak 
where the cold, clear water gushed from the rocks 
into a little basin, and then tumbled down a rocky 
channel under the springhouse and on for some 
hundred of yards farther before it widened out into 
the pond. 

“We can go swimming in the pond but there is a 
nicer place in the creek above the ford.” 

“Oh, I’d love to learn to swim but we haven’t 
any bathing suits.” 

“Pooh, that doesn’t matter, we just take some old 
dresses — there isn’t anybody to see you, especially 
down at the creek. You know it’s private ground 
and the trees hang over the pool all around so the 
sun only comes in a little bit. We’ll get Marian to 
go with us.” 

“I should think you could skate, too.” 


102 


Chicken Little Jane 


“We do. I had a great time once last winter — 
Father told me the ice was too thin, but I saw a 
yearling calf go over all right and I thought the 
ice would bear me. But I guess calfie had more 
sense about the weak places. At any rate, I went 
through, near the middle. The water was up to 
my shoulders. Gee, it was cold and the ice kept 
breaking when I tried to climb out — and the men 
were all away. I most froze before I got to the 
bank, and then my skate straps were so wet I 
couldn’t loosen them, besides my fingers were too 
numb to bend. I had to walk on the skates all the 
way to the house. My teeth chattered till they al- 
most played tunes by the time I got to the door.” 
Chicken Little shivered at the recollection. 

“What’s the cunning little stone house for?” 
Gertie’s attention was caught by a tiny hut without 
windows on the edge of the pond. 

“Oh, that’s the smoke-house. We’re so far from 
town that we put away a lot of meat every winter. 
The hams and sides of bacon are smoked there.” 

“And that wooden building over yonder?” 

“The granary — for the wheat and rye. Those 
open log houses are the corn cribs.” 

“My, it takes a lot of buildings to make a ranch.” 
Katy was impressed in spite of herself. 

“We haven’t been to the barns and corrals yet. 
I love the hay mow.” 


A Hunting Party 103 

Chicken Little had not forgotten lumps of sugar 
for Calico and Caliph. Ernest had given his pony 
a high-sounding name. The intelligent beast was 
proud and dainty enough to deserve it. He was shy 
about coming for his lump, but when he once got 
the taste, he nosed around Chicken Little for more. 

They ended the morning’s wanderings in Jane’s 
own particular bower, known to the family as the 
Weeping Willows because she had once retired 
there to cry out her troubles, and had been discov- 
ered in a very moist state by Frank, who was a 
merciless tease. 

There were two rows of the old willows. They 
formed a long leafy room on the edge of one of 
the orchards, out of sight both of the house and 
road. Chicken Little had been known to flee thither 
on more than one occasion when she did not wish 
to be disturbed in the thrilling place in a novel. For 
you really couldn’t hear any one calling from the 
house in this leafy fastness. Ernest had made her 
two or three rustic seats, and a little cupboard where 
she could keep her treasures sheltered from the sun 
and rain. 

Katy and Gertie were charmed with this retreat. 

“If there was only a table, I could write all my 
letters home out here. Wouldn’t it be romantic?” 
Katy loved the unusual. 

“It’s lovely, Jane, lets stay out here lots.” Gertie 


104 Chicken Little Jane 

settled down on one of the seats with a little sigh. 
“I wish I had my old doll here; it would make such 
a dandy playhouse.” 

“Gertie Halford, the idea of a great, big girl like 
you wanting to play with dolls.” 

“I get Victoria out sometimes and dress her up,” 
confessed Jane. “It isn’t much fun all alone, but 
I like to see her sometimes. If you’d like to, 
Gertie, we’ll have a doll sewing bee this afternoon 
and you can be Victoria’s mother and Katie and I 
will be dressmaker’s though I never could sew de- 
cently. Mother’s about given me up in despair.” 

Chicken Little had noticed a little far-away look 
in Gertie’s eyes ever since she came. Marian had 
warned her the night before that she had better 
keep Gertie pretty busy for a day or two, or she 
would be homesick. 

Unfortunately, Chicken Little’s kindness pre- 
cipitated the catastrophe she was trying to avoid. 
She was so motherly she reminded Gertie afresh 
of the dear little mother she had left so many miles 
behind and the tears came in spite of her. 

Chicken Little coaxed and comforted, and Katy 
coaxed and scolded, but Gertie’s tears were appar- 
ently turned on for keeps and the Weeping Willows 
was earning its name again. Gertie cried till she 
got all shivery, declaring solemnly whenever she 
could command her voice sufficiently to talk, that 


A Hunting Party 105 

there wasn’t a thing the matter — only — only — she — 
was a little bit homesick. 

She wouldn’t hear to Jane’s going to fetch Alice 
or Mrs. Morton or Marian. “She’d be all right in 
a minute, if they’d just let her alone.” 

But the minutes went by and she still cried, and 
in spite of the warm June sunshine, her hands felt 
cold and her shoulders shook as if with an ague. 
Chicken Little and Katy were both getting worried 
when help came in the shape of Marian and Jilly. 

Marian understood at a glance, and dropping to 
the ground beside her, drew her into her lap and 
chafed the cold hands while she bade Jilly hug poor 
Gertie. Jilly was a born comforter and she half 
smothered the patient with her energetic hugs and 
moist, warm kisses. 

“Too bad, too bad — ants bite Gertie, too bad! 
Jilly fine ’em.” 

Jilly had not forgotten her own sad experience 
with the ants and not seeing any visible cause for 
Gertie’s woes, evidently thought they were the guilty 
ones again. 

Jilly was irresistable. Gertie had to laugh, even 
if the tears running down her face, did leave a salty 
taste in her mouth. She hugged the small com- 
forter. Jilly, however, was not to be turned from 
her hunt. She insisted upon pulling down Gertie’s 
stockings and making a minute search for the cul- 


106 Chicken Little Jane 

prits. Her little tickling fingers and earnest air 
completed Gertie’s cure, and Jilly adopted her as 
her own particular property from that day on, seem- 
ing to consider her in need of protection. 

Marian declared they must all come and have 
dinner with her. Ernest and Sherm were already 
there and they had a merry meal in the little cottage, 
for Marian made them all help — even the big boys. 
She tied a blue apron around Sherm and set him 
to stirring gravy while Ernest watched four cherry 
pies almost ready to come out of the oven. She 
had despatched Katy and Jane to the springhouse 
after milk and butter. Gertie, assisted by Jilly, set 
the table. 

Sherm had burned a nice fiery red during his 
morning’s plowing. He was immensely proud of 
his efforts. 

“I tell you Sherm’s some farmer for a tender- 
foot,” said Ernest, telling about the number of 
corn rows he had done. 

“Better come stay with us, Sherm.” 

“Haven’t I come — I love the ranch. But I sup- 
pose I’ve got four years of college ahead of me.” 

“You’ll have time enough after that, Sherm,” 
said Frank, “but if you should want to try ranch- 
ing, you’d better come out this way.” 

“No ranching for me.” Ernest thumped the table 
with his fork emphatically. “You can have my 


A Hunting Party 107 

berth, Sherm, and welcome. The only thing I care 

for here, is the hunting. By the way, Frank, are 
you and Marian going hunting with us?” 

“I’d like to. What do you say, Marian?” 

“Why, if there’s room for so many.” 

“I wish we could ask Captain Clarke,” Chicken 
Little spoke up. 

“My, you are daffy about the Captain, Jane. He 
wouldn’t go — you couldn’t hire him to if he knew 
Alice and I were to be of the party. 

Queer he is so charming with Jane, and with the 
men and boys, and so very reserved and stiff with 
women.” 

“He probably has some reason for disliking your 
sex. Perhaps, if we’d let him go with the children 
and the boys, he might be persuaded to come. He’d 
only see you at luncheon time. What’s the matter, 
Katie?” 

“I’m not a child,” said Katy with dignity. 

“All right, you may come with us grown-ups 
and let the Captain have the children and the boys.” 

“You’d better find out whether the Captain is 
willing before you plan so definitely, Frank.” 

“We’ll send Chicken Little and Sherm over on 
the ponies as a special deputation to invite him. You 
must coax your prettiest, Sis,” 

“I’d love to. I just know I can get him to come. 
Will you go with me, Sherm?” 


108 Chicken Little Jane 

“Nothing I’d like better,” responded Sherm 
heartily. • 

The next few days fairly twinkled by. The girls 
roamed the woods and the fields with Dick and 
Alice, and went in bathing, and fed chickens, and 
even made little pats of butter down in the cool 
springhouse. Gertie mourned because she could 
not send hers home straightway to Mother. Chicken 
Little and Sherm waited until Sunday to go over to 
the Captain’s. 

Sherm found Caliph and the Mexican saddle 
rather more to his taste than Chicken Little’s outfit 
had been on the ride from town. He had about all 
he could do for the first five minutes to manage Ca- 
liph for he had had little opportunity for riding at 
home. But he had a cool head, and with a few sug- 
gestions from Jane, he soon convinced Caliph that he 
had a new master as determined as Ernest, if not 
quite so skilful a horseman. They did not talk much. 
Sherm considered Jane a little girl and Jane stood 
rather in awe of Sherm. But they enjoyed the brisk 
ride none the less. The swift motion with the wind 
in their faces, the wide stretches of prairie bounded 
on the distant horizon by a faint line of timber, 
were novel and delightful to Sherm. To Jane, they 
were familiar and dearly loved. Besides, she liked 
having Sherm with her. 

He glanced at her from time to time. Chicken 


A Hunting Party 109 

Little glanced back with sweet, friendly eyes. It 
was she who finally broke the ice. 

“I do hope the Captain will go. I’m most sure 
he’ll like you, because his little boy looked a lot like 
you. He showed me the picture.” 

“He seems to like you all right from what they 
say.” 

Chicken Little laughed merrily. 

Sherm couldn’t quite see the connection. 

“Well, what’s so funny about that?” 

“Will you cross your heart never to tell, Sherm?. 
Frank and Ernest would tease the life out of me 
if they knew.” 

“Cut my heart out and eat it, if I ever breathe 
a word.” 

Chicken Little related the swearing episode which 
she had not seen fit to trouble even Marian with, at 
home. “I guess,” she concluded, “he felt sort of 
sorry for me right at the start and that made him 
like me.” 

“ ’Twouldn’t be such a hard job as you seem to 
think, Jane,” Sherm surprised himself by saying. 

Chicken Little flushed and looked up hastily at 
Sherm who also felt his face getting warm to his 
great disgust. Sherm hated softies of any kind. 

“Oh, I believe there’s the Captain now over by 
the pasture fence.” 

Captain Clarke was riding round the pastures in- 


no Chicken Little Jane 

specting the barbed wire fencing. He soon hailed 
them. ^ 

“Hello, Little Neighbor, is the piebald behaving 
himself?” 

Jane introduced Sherm as soon as they came 
abreast. 

“Captain Clarke, this is Ernest’s friend, the 
Sherman Dart I told you about.” 

Captain Clarke scanned the boy’s face curiously. 
His own went a little white after an instant’s inspec- 
tion. 

“You are right — he is marvellously like what my 
boy might be to-day. I beg your pardon for my 
rude scrutiny. Possibly Jane has told you of the 
resemblance. You will come up to the house and 
let Wing give you some lemonade. It is hot this 
afternoon.” 

Chicken Little declined to take him from his 
course and told him their errand. He hesitated. 
“You say Mr. and Mrs. Harding and your brother 
and his wife are going. Would you think me very 
rude and unappreciative if I declined, dear? I am 
poor company for anyone these days and ” 

Chicken Little looked so disappointed that he 
paused ruefully. 

“Please, just this once, Katie and Gertie want to 
see you dreadfully and you could go with us. Pretty 
please.” 


Ill 


A Hunting Party 

She thought she saw signs of weakening. Sherm 
also noticed the Captain’s hesitation. 

“We’ve all sort of set our hearts on having you, 
Sir. Chicken Little and Ernest have talked so much 
about you we feel acquainted, and Dr. Morton says 
you’re a dead shot. I’ve never hunted anything but 
squirrels myself.” 

Captain Clarke stared at Sherm as if in a dream 
for a minute. The boy was embarrassed by his si- 
lence and smiled his little crooked smile to cover 
it. Their host passed his hand over his eyes and 
sighed. Then he smiled. 

“It’s no disgrace to surrender to a superior force. 
I am yours to command. But I stipulate that you 
two stand by me.” 

Chicken Little gave a bounce in her saddle to 
emphasize her delight and Calico took this as a hint 
to go on. 

“Whoa, Calico ! Thank you — bushels ! Oh, I 
just know we’ll have the best time! Would you 
mind if we children all went with you because no- 
body’s going to be willing to be left out?” 

“I can take five nicely and have plenty of room 
for guns and lunch baskets besides. By the way, 
please tell your mother that Wing Fan will never 
forgive me if he is not permitted to get 
up the lunch for all the young people at the 
very least.” 


i 12 Chicken Little Jane 

“Have you a gun with you?” he asked Sherm 
as they were going. 

“No, but Ernest said I might take his.” 

“I have a new shotgun. I should be glad if you 
would share it with me.” 

They found Alice and Dick, Marian, Katie, 
Gertie and Jilly, not to mention Huz and Buz, wait- 
ing for them on the Morton side of the ford. 

“What luck?” 

Sherm didn’t give Jane a chance to reply. 

“Oh, Chicken Little just put on her company 
smile and the Captain held out his hands and said: 
“Handcuffs, please. He was meeker than Buz.” 

“Sherman Dart, you old — ” Chicken Little 
flicked Caliph lightly by way of revenge, and Sherm 
had his hands full for several seconds, for Caliph 
resented the indignity. 

It was arranged to start early the following Sat- 
urday morning. Mrs. Morton and Annie were up 
soon after daylight busy with the mysteries of fried 
chicken and fresh rolls. The men of the party were 
equally busy cleaning guns and routing out all sorts 
of hunting toggery. The girls tried to help every- 
body impartially, succeeding for the most part in 
making a general nuisance of themselves. 

At exactly seven-thirty Captain Clarke drove up 
with a wonderful team of blacks. His hunting 
jacket was belted in with a formidable looking 


A Hunting Party 113 

cartridge belt, two shotguns were slid in on the floor 
of the spring wagon, and lunch baskets and a great 
earthenware jug of lemonade were wedged in un- 
der the seats. He gave a shrill hunting halloo as 
he drew up at the gate. 

Mrs. Morton was a little disturbed at the gay 
looking team. 

“Are you quite sure they are safe with the guns? 
You know young people are often reckless and this 
is a very precious load.” 

“My dear madam, I think I can answer for Jim 
and Jerry. I took them out for an hour yesterday 
and used the gun over their heads to make sure they 
hadn’t forgotten their manners.” 

The Captain met the strangers of the party in his 
usual courteous reserved fashion, but his eyes 
lighted when Chicken Little ran down the walk. He 
established Ernest and Katie and Gertie on the back 
seat and swung Jane up in front to the driver’s seat 
with Sherm on her left. 

“Ernest, I’ll handle the ribbons going, if it suits 
you, and you can drive us back. I have an idea you 
will have the sharpest eye for game of any of this 
crowd. We ought to do our best work the next 
two hours for snipe. We probably won’t find many 
prairie chickens until we get over on Little John. 
By the way, boys, be careful not to disturb the 
mother birds — there are still some on the nests. I 


114 Chicken Little Jane 

really don’t like to hunt quite so early in the season 
as this, although a good many of the young birds 
are shifting for themselves already — bird parents 
have a beautiful faith in Providence. They don t 
worry long about their young.” 

A light shower had fallen the night before and 
the air was fresh and fragrant with the smell of 
wet grasses and moist earth. 

The rattle of wheels close behind assured them 
that Frank and his load were near. 

“Kansas certainly takes the cake for climate,” 
Dick called to them, happily reckless about corrupt- 
ing the young folk with his slang. Alice promptly 
reproached him. 

“Mrs. Morton would send you home by the first 
train if she heard you.” 

Dick assumed an air of mock woe. “Oh, I say 
there, Chicken Little, don’t mention that little mat- 
ter of the cake — that particular cake isn’t respect- 
able, Alice says.” 

It was Frank who got the first shot. 

“Here, Marian, take the lines quick. Hold 
them tight — they may jump when I fire. Turn out 
of the road — to the right — slowly now. Stop!” 

Frank drew the gun to his shoulder and took 
careful aim while the others were still vainly try- 
ing to see something to shoot at. A snap, a flash, 


A Hunting Party 115 

and a bird whirred up a hundred paces away, flew 
a few feet from the ground, and fell. 

Frank ran to the spot and held up a good-sized 
plover. Marian and Alice examined it pitifully. 

“What a slender delicate thing it is ! It seems 
a shame to kill it. I like the excitement of hunting 
but I always want to cry over the victims,” said 
Alice with a sigh. 

Sherm caught sight of a covey soon after. He 
and Ernest slipped out of the wagon and stole up 
as close as possible. Ernest got two with the scat- 
tering bird shot, but Sherm missed. 

“You were too anxious, lad. Stop an instant al- 
ways before you fire to make sure your hand is 
steady,’’ the Captain consoled him kindly. 

Sherm profited by this advice and brought down 
his next bird. Captain Clarke left the game to the 
boys until their first zest for the sport was satisfied. 
Chicken Little frequently discovered the birds be- 
fore either of the boys, and was eager to have a 
turn herself, as was also Katy. Gertie put her 
hands to her ears every time a gun was fired and 
openly hoped they wouldn’t find any more game to 
shoot at. Captain Clarke advised the girls to wait 
a little, and watch the boys carefully to see exactly 
how they aimed and rested their guns, and he would 
help them both a little later. But Ernest soon un- 
dertook Katie’s education and was surprised to find 


1 16 Chicken Little Jane 

he had a very apt pupil. Katy had as steady a 
nerve and as true an eye as either of the boys. Er- 
nest began to be alarmed lest his pupil win his 
honors away from him. 

“You must have shot before, Katy.” 

“I have with a revolver. Uncle Sim used to let 
me shoot at a target. And he had an archery club 
last summer.” 

The Captain did his best for Chicken Little but 
she did not do nearly so well as Katy, though she 
made one shot the Captain considered quite extra- 
ordinary. 

“It’s a pretty long range for a novice, little neigh- 
bor, but you can try it.” 

Two birds flew up where she had seen one. “Oh, 
dear, I missed,” she lamented. 

“I’m not so sure,” said Sherm, “Let’s go see.” ' 

He helped her down and they made a brisk run 
toward the spot where the grouse had risen. After 
a few minutes, Sherm stooped and picked up a bird 
considerably to the right of where Chicken Little 
had aimed. 

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” he exclaimed with a 
puzzled expression. “You did get one.” 

He stood looking down thoughtfully at the 
ground. Chicken Little hurried to him elated, but 
her joy was short-lived. Snuggled among the 
grasses was an empty nest. 


A Hunting Party 117 

“Oh, do you ’spose she was on the nest? But 
I couldn’t have seen her if she had been — and it’s 
empty.” 

By way of reply, Sherm stooped again and picked 
up a baby grouse from a clump of weeds. Fear 
had frozen it into a motionless wee brown image. 

“Oh, the poor little darling! I took its mother.” 
Chicken Little looked ready to cry. 

Bending down Sherm parted the weeds and 
grasses cautiously. 

“Here’s another — and another. We must hunt 
them, Chicken Little, and take them home or they 
will all starve. Gee, what can we put them in?” 

Jane slipped her hat elastic from under her braid, 
and taking a handful of long grass to line it with, 
soon made a snug nest. They tucked the mottled 
downy bunches into it. 

“What in Sam Hill are you people doing over 
there?” called Ernest. 

“Little grouse — come help us find them,” Sherm 
called back. “Be careful now or you’ll step on 
them,” he warned as Ernest and the girls came run- 
ning up. “They are the slyest little codgers — you 
don’t see them until you are right on them. 

Gertie was on her knees peering before the words 
were out of his mouth. She lifted a fourth mite 
from its hiding place, and a fifth, and a sixth, almost 
as fast as she could pick them up. “Oh, aren’t they 


1 18 Chicken Little Jane 

dear? May I hold them, Jane, when we get back 
to the wagon?” Gertie was caressing them with 
hands and eyes. 

There were ten chicks cuddled in the hat, when 
after a thorough search of the weeds, Ernest an- 
nounced that they must surely have them all. But 
to make sure they went over the ground in all di- 
rections once more. 

Jane was very sober. Sherm tried to cheer her. 

“You couldn’t help it, Chicken Little. You didn’t 
mean to.” Sherm smiled his funny smile as he said 
this. 

“Why are you smiling? Oh, I know — I believe 
so, too.” 

“What secrets are you talking?” Katy was cur- 
ious. 

“Yes, speak United States, it isn’t polite to leave 
your guests in the dark this way,” growled Ernest. 

Jane haughtily declined to explain just then. 
When they returned to the wagon, they found the 
Captain as much interested in the shot, as he was 
in the prairie chicks. 

“That was really a wonderful hit, little girl. I 
congratulate you.” 

Jane stole a glance at Sherm. He wasn’t look- 
ing at her, but he was smiling. Jane smiled, too. 

“Yes, Captain Clarke,” she replied demurely, “it 
was rather astonishing.” 


A Hunting Party 119 

This was too much for Sherm who chuckled 
openly. Captain Clarke looked from one to the 
other inquiringly. The others were completely 
mystified. 

“Well, I’d just like to know what you two are 
up to.” Katy wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

“Can’t a fellow laugh without having to give an 
account of himself?” Sherm parried, still trying to 
stave off the mirth that possessed him. 

Chicken Little’s face was sweetly sober. “He’s 
appreciating my — skill — the rest of you don’t seem 

to realize what a feat ” A sound, something 

between a crow and a suppressed steam whistle in- 
terrupted her. Sherm whooped until he was red in 
the face. Chicken Little regarded him reproach- 
fully, but continued: “You see most anybody can 
hit the chicken they aim at, but it takes a fine shot 
to hit one you didn’t know was there.” She grinned 
mischievously up at the Captain who grinned back 
delightedly. 

“Really, Chicken Little?” 

“Really.” She joined in the general laugh. 

“What did you want to tell for?” Sherm had 
enjoyed having the joke to himself. 

She didn’t answer then, but later she whispered: 
“Because the Captain — I didn’t want him praising 
me that way!” 

Noon found them fifteen miles from home with 


120 


Chicken Little Jane 


a bag of six snipe and ten prairie chickens, and ap- 
petites that fairly clamored. Frank found an ideal 
camping place in a grove of walnut trees beside a 
small creek. 

“I camped here once two years ago and there’s 
a fine spring somewhere near. Come along, Katie, 
we’ll go hunt it. Ernest, picket the horses — there’s 
oats under the back seat. And Sherm, if you’ll just 
start a fire for the coffee. 

Marian and Alice spread the luncheon out on a 
long tablecloth laid over the dust robes on the 
ground. Gertie and Chicken Little fed the little 
grouse with some moistened bread crumbs, finding 
it difficut at first to induce them to eat. But they 
would swallow, when the girls pried open their tiny 
beaks and stuck a crumb inside. Captain Clarke 
showed them how, and patiently helped them until 
each tiny craw was at least partly filled. 

Marian and Alice watched him furtively. 

“He is gentle as a woman,” Alice whispered, 
“and his face lights up wonderfully when he smiles, 
though it is stern usually.” 

“Yes, I can see now why Jane is so fascinated. 
Do you know his smile is very much like Sherm’s? 
See — no, just wait a minute. Now — watch his up- 
per lip — his mouth twists crooked exactly like 
Sherm’s. Chicken Little spoke of his baby’s pic- 
ture having the same smile.” Marian dropped her 


A Hunting Party 121 

eyes hastily as the Captain chanced to turn in their 
direction. 

“I imagine lots of people have that kind of a 
smile only we never noticed them,” replied Alice. 

“Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest anything. 
Will you cut the lemon cake?” 

After the luncheon was eaten, the shady grove 
tempted them to linger on with its woodsy coolness. 
The younger folk dragging the Captain, a willing 
victim, along with them, went off on an exploring 
expedition while the others stretched out luxuriously 
on the coarse grass that grew rank along the slope. 

It was four o’clock before they could tear them- 
selves away for the homeward ride. 

“You’d better hurry,” Frank called to the strag- 
glers, “it will be almost dark before we get home 
even if we don’t stop to shoot.” 

They picked up a few quail on the divide soon 
after they started, but their zest for the sport 
seemed to have waned. Chicken Little declined to 
try any further. 

“I know, it’s the baby grouse,” said Katy. 

“Yes,” said Captain Clarke, “I think the baby 
grouse have rather taken the zip out of it for all 
of us.” 

The moon was just peeping above the tree tops 
as they crossed the home ford. A hugh grotesque 
shadow of the horses and wagon with its load, was 


122 


Chicken Little Jane 


reflected upon the silvered surface of a deep pool 
just beyond the ripples where they had stopped to 
let the horses drink. The blacks having satisfied 
their thirst, began to dash the water about with 
their hoofs. 

“They love it, don’t they?” Katy watched them. 

“Yes,” said the Captain thoughtfully, “I guess 
every living thing enjoys this beautiful world of 
ours — when it is given the chance.” 




“Take a hand to a wooster? Take a hand to a 
wooster !” 

Dick Harding was standing out in the road near 
the white cottage one morning about two weeks after 
the hunting party, trying to decide whether he would 
take a walk or a ride to settle his breakfast. He 
glanced down into Jilly’s sober little face lifted to 
his appealingly. 

“Take a hand to a wooster? Charmed, I’m sure. 
Point out the rooster. But what has his rooster- 
ship done, and how can I make him keep still long 
enough to lay hands on him, Jilly Dilly?” 

Jilly clasped five fat fingers around two of his, 
smiled confidingly and made her plea once more: 
“Take a hand to a wooster.” 

123 


Chicken Little Jane 


124 

Dick looked puzzled, but Jilly was pulling and he 
meekly followed her guidance. U I haven’t the faint- 
est idea what you are getting me into, young lady, 
but go ahead, I’m at your service.” 

Jilly pattered along not deigning to reply to his 
remarks. Jilly considered words as something to 
be reserved for business purposes only. 

She led him to the chicken yard, pressed her small 
face against the wire netting that enclosed it, and 
contemplated the fowls ecstatically. Dick contem- 
plated also, trying to pick out the offending rooster. 

“Which rooster, Jilly?” 

But Jilly only smiled vaguely. “Feed a wooster,” 
she commanded after another season of gazing. 

“Yes, to be sure, but what would you suggest that 
I offer him? There doesn’t seem to be anything 
edible round here.” 

The chickens seconded Jilly’s suggestion, coming 
to the fence and clucking excitedly. 

Jilly looked pained at Dick’s indolence and, tak- 
ing his hand, led him over to a covered wooden box, 
which was found to contain shelled corn. The chick- 
ens were duly fed, but Dick still puzzled over the 
unchastized rooster until Marian enlightened him 
later. 

“I shall have to give you a key to Jilly’s dialect,” 
Marian laughed — “she merely wanted you to go 
with her to see the chickens.” 


Pigs 12 j 

Chicken Little was enjoying her guests. Her re- 
solve to help mother was carried out only semi-occa- 
sionally when there were raspberries or currants to 
be picked or peas to be shelled, under the grape 
arbor so they wouldn’t be in Annie’s way in the 
kitchen. At first, Mrs. Morton had counted on 
having the girls help with the breakfast dishes, but 
they developed such a genius for disappearing im- 
mediately after breakfast that she gave it up as 
more bother than it was worth. 

They tramped and rode, and waded and splashed 
and finally swam, in the bathing hole down at the 
creek, under Marian’s or Alice’s supervision, till 
Katie and Gertie w T ere brown and hearty. 

“Mrs. Halford wouldn’t know Gertie — she’s 
fairly made over,” Alice observed one morning. 

Gertie was fast losing her timidity and had so 
much persistence in learning to ride that she bade 
fair to have a more graceful seat in the saddle than 
Jane herself. Sherm was deep in farm work and 
the girls saw little either of him or of Ernest, except 
in the evenings and on Sundays. Dick ran the reaper 
in the harvest field for Dr. Morton for three days, 
but his zeal waned as the weather got hotter. 

“This is my vacation and I don’t want to sweat 
my sweet self entirely away ‘in little drops of water.’ 
Think how pained you’d be, dearest,” he told Alice. 

“I never dreamed there was so much farming to 


126 


Chicken Little Jane 


a ranch,” Alice remarked to Dr. Morton one day. 
“I thought you attended to the cattle ” 

‘‘And rode around in chaps and sombreros, look- 
ing picturesque, the rest of the time,” interrupted 
Dick. “My precious wife is disappointed because 
she hasn’t seen any cowboys cavorting about the 
place shooting each other up or gambling with nice 
picturesque bags of gold dust.” 

“Dick Harding! I didn’t. But we’d hardly 
know there were any cattle round if we didn’t go 
through the pasture occasionally.” 

“Our big pastures take them off our hands pretty 
well in summer, but in winter they have to be fed 
and herded and looked after generally, don’t they, 
Chicken Little? Humbug has played herd boy her- 
self more than once. You are thinking of the big 
cattle ranges in Colorado and Montana and Wyom- 
ing, Alice. This country is cut up into farms and 
the ranges are gone. And we have to raise our corn 
and wheat and rye, not to mention fruits and vege- 
tables. It’s a busy life, but I love its independence.” 

A day or two after this conversation, Ernest came 
in late to dinner, exclaiming: “Father, the white sow 
and all her thirteen pigs are out.” 

“The Dickens, have you any idea where she’s 
gone?” Dr. Morton looked decidedly annoyed. “I 
told Jim Bart that pen wasn’t strong enough to hold 
her — she’s the meanest animal on the place.” 


127 


Pigs 

One of the harvest hands said he thought he saw 
her down along the slough. I am sorry for the pork- 
ers if she is — they aren’t a week old yet.” 

Go down right after dinner and see if you can 
see anything of her. The old fool will lose them all 
in that marshy ground. And I don’t see how we 
can spare a man to look after them. It looks like 
rain and that wheat must be in the barns by night.” 

Ernest came back from his search to report that 
the sow and one lone pig had wandered back to the 
barnyard and Jim Bart had got them into the pen. 

One pig! You don’t mean she has lost the other 
twelve? That’s costly business !” 

“Looks that way. They’re such little fellows — 
I suppose they’re squealing down there in the slough 
in that swamp grass — it’s a regular jungle three or 
four feet high.” 

Dr. Morton studied a moment, perplexed. “Well, 
the grain is worth more than the pigs. I guess they’ll 
have to go until evening and then we’ll all go down 
and see how many we can find. They won’t suffer 
greatly before night unless they find enough water 
to drown themselves in.” 

“Oh, the poor piggies!” exclaimed Chicken Little. 
“Why, they’ll be most starved and maybe the bull 
snakes might get them.” 

“I hardly think they could manage a pig. But I 
can’t help it, unless you think you could rescue them, 


128 Chicken Little Jane 

daughter.” Dr. Morton said this last in fun, but 
Chicken Little took it seriously. 

“What could I put them in, Father?” 

“Oh, you might take a small chicken coop,” re- 
plied her father carelessly. The wagons coming 
from the barn were already rattling into the road 
and he was in a hurry to catch one and save himself 
the hot walk to the fields. 

Chicken Little was thinking. She sat twisting a 
corner of her apron into a tight roll. “I believe we 
could do it,” she said presently, “and the bull snakes 
are perfectly harmless if they are big, ugly-looking 
things. Will you help me, Katie?” 

“Ugh, are there really snakes there, Jane?*’ 

“Yes, but we’ve never seen any poisonous ones 
along there, though I saw a water moccasin once 
right down by the spring, so you never can tell. But 
snakes sound a lot worse than they really are, ’cause 
they’re such cowards they always run.” 

Katy considered. The task did not sound attrac- 
tive, but Katy was plucky. “I guess, if you can do 
it, I can.” 

Jane had not thought of asking Gertie and she 
was surprised to hear her say: “I’m coming, too.” 

“Oh, Gertie, won’t you be afraid?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid, but I don’t want the little pig- 
gies killed — just think how you’d feel if you were 
lost in such a dreadful place and there were snakes 


Pigs 129 

and awful things. If I see a snake I’ll yell bloody 
murder, and I guess it’ll let me alone.” 

Jane threw herself on Gertie and hugged her. 

Gertie Halford, I think you’d make a real, sure 
enough book heroine, because you do things when 
you think you ought to, whether you’re scared or 
not.” 

I wish Dick hadn’t gone to town to-day,” said 
Katy. 

Thicken Little had her campaign already planned. 
“I’m going to get Ernest’s and Frank’s and Sherm’s 
rubber boots for us. They’ll be lots too big, but 
we can tie them around the legs to make them stick 
on. They will be fine in the mud and water if we 
have to wade in the slough. Yes, and they will pro- 
tect us from the snakes, too. We won’t put them on 
till we get down there; they will be too hard to walk 
in. And we can take Jilly’s red wagon and put the 
smallest chicken coop on it. It isn’t heavy.” 

Mrs. Morton had gone to town with Dick and 
Alice for the day or the girls would probably not 
have been permitted to carry out their unusual under- 
taking.. They quickly made their preparations with 
much joking about the boots, and twenty minutes 
later came to the banks of the slough. The slough 
was in reality a continuation of the spring stream, 
which spread out in the meadows below the pond 
until it lost all semblance of a stream and became 


Chicken Little Jane 


130 

merely a marshy stretch, whose waters finally found 
their way into the creek. In the meadows adjoin- 
ing, the finest hay on the place was cut each year. 

The girls sat down on the grass and fastened on 
the boots. The effect was somewhat startling, for 
they reached well above the knee on Chicken Little, 
who was the tallest of the three, while poor Gertie 
seemed to be divided into two equal parts. 

Both Katy and Jane giggled when she got labori- 
ously to her feet. 

“There’s more boots than girl, Gertie,” laughed 
Jane. 

“You don’t need to be afraid, Sis, you’ll scare 
anything, even a snake !” Katy remarked unfeelingly, 
though her words reassured Gertie wonderfully. 

“I don’t feel so afraid in these,” she said. 

Chicken Little was slowly making her way in to 
the slough. “Jim found the mother pig near here, 
Ernest said, but the little scamps may be most any- 
where. Let’s listen and see if we can hear any 
squeals or grunts.” 

“Yes, I did — I’m most sure, but it didn’t sound 
very close by,” Gertie answered. 

Chicken Little listened. “Which way did the 
sound come from?” 

“Toward the creek, but I don’t hear it any more.” 

“We’d better search pretty carefully as we go 
along so we won’t have to come back over the same 



They had a pretty chase. 




Pigs 131 

ground,” remarked Katy, who had a genius for or- 
ganizing — even a pig hunt. You are the tallest, 
Jane, so you take the tallest grass next the water, 
and I’ll come along half way up the bank and Gertie 
can walk through the meadow grass — that way we 
can’t miss them.” 

“No, for they must be on this side of the slough: 
they’re too little to wade across it.” 

Chicken Little made the first find, two discouraged 
little porkers, hopelessly mired and grunting feebly 
when disturbed. They had no trouble in catching 
these, but holding their wet, miry little bodies was 
a different matter. They were slippery as eels. 
Chicken Little and Katy, who each had one, found 
them a handful. 

“Oh, mine most got away! And I’m all over mud 
— we’ll be a sight!” Katy giggled hysterically. “I 
wonder what mother would think if she could see me 
now.” 

“Well, it will all wash off. It wouldn’t be so bad 
if it wasn’t so hard to clump along in these old boots. 
It takes forever to get any place.” 

They had sent Gertie on ahead to open the coop 
door. With a sigh of relief, Katy shoved hers into 
it. Jane was not so lucky. Instead of going in, as 
a well-regulated pig should, the small, black-and- 
white sinner shot off to one side and made for the 
slough again. They had a pretty chase before he 


Chicken Little Jane 


132 

finally tangled himself up in the grass and was cap- 
tured once more. 

They plodded back to take up the search where 
they had left off, going through the shorter grass 
till they should reach the point where they had found 
the pigs. They were clumping along, chattering 
gaily, when Katy jumped and let out a yell that could 
have been heard a block away. 

“Oh, there’s the biggest snake I ever saw — over 
there near that rock — don’t you see?” 

Gertie turned white, but Chicken Little encour- 
aged her by starting toward the monster, which w T as 
indeed a huge bull snake fully five feet long, as Er- 
nest and Sherm found by actual measurement that 
evening. 

“Pooh,” said Chicken Little, “it looks dreadful, 
but it won’t hurt you. If I can find some stones I’m 
going to try to kill it.” 

“Don’t you dare go near it.” Katy grabbed her 
dress and held on tight. 

“But we’ll all be scared to death all the time, for 
fear we come across it again, if I don’t. There are 
some rocks over there big enough, if I can get them 
out of the ground.” 

She went resolutely over and, prying with a stick, 
secured two good-sized rocks. Armed with these, 
she started toward the snake coiled up asleep in the 
hot July sunshine. Katy and Gertie watched her 


Pigs 133 

breathlessly. Chicken Little advanced with caution. 
She didn’t like the job herself, though she was sure 
the snake wouldn’t do anything worse than run. She 
had seen her elders kill them more than once, and 
they had always been cowardly. Nevertheless, her 
heart thumped and her breath came fast, as she crept 
nearer. She must go close and aim at the head if 
she hoped to do any execution. Step by step she 
crept forward till she was within four feet of that 
ugly coil. Stopping, she raised the heavy stone and 
took careful aim. At this instant her presence dis- 
turbed the snake. It raised its oval head, fixing her 
with its beady, bright eyes. A thrill of horror shot 
through her. What if it should fascinate her so she 
couldn’t move? She had heard of such things. She 
heaved the stone, shutting her eyes tight as it left 
her hand. 

Katy and Gertie both screamed and jumped back. 
Jane opened her eyes quickly to see the snake uncoil 
and start to glide away. She saw something else, 
too. She saw that her stone had wounded it just be- 
hind the head. Her courage flowed back in a trice. 
She raised the other stone and moved forward. The 
snake was slipping over the ground at a swift pace. 
She had to run, catching up with it as it came to its 
hole, a few feet distant. She smashed down the 
second rock almost in the same place she had hit 
before. The reptile moved feebly about six inches 


Chicken Little Jane 


134 

farther till its ugly head was hidden inside the hole, 
then thrashed its heavy body through another undu- 
lation, and lay still. 

Chicken Little stood looking at it in dazed 
surprise for several seconds. She was white and 
trembling with excitement. Seeing that it did 
not move, Katy and Gertie crept a little closer. 
No one said a word for a full minute, 
then Chicken Little came to life, her face 
convulsed with loathing. 

“Ugh, the nasty thing — I hate them. I don’t see 
what God wanted to make such horrid, wicked things 
for!” 

“Well, the Bible says they weren’t wicked till Eve 
ate the apple,” Katy replied, staring curiously down 
at the snake. She had never seen such a big one out- 
side of a circus. “But I think they must have always 
looked wicked, anyhow. How did you ever dare, 
Chicken Little, to tackle it? I was expecting it to 
wind right round you like that picture of Laocoon in 
our mythology.” 

“I shouldn’t have dared if I hadn’t seen so many 
of them before. I guess being brave is mostly being 
used to things. But I hate snakes worse than any- 
thing in the world — I don’t feel a bit sorry about 
killing them !” 

“Oh, dear,” said Gertie, shuddering, “I s’pose we 
have got to find the rest of the pigs.” 


Pigs 135. 

Katy and Chicken Little each echoed the sigh. 
They all started ahead resolutely. But they kept 
closer together for a time. They went some little 
distance without finding any further signs of the lost 
animals. 

“You don’t suppose we could have passed them, 
do you?” Katy inquired anxiously. 

“We couldn’t, if they are on this side of the 
slough.” 

A few rods farther on something moved in the 
swamp grass. All three jumped and screamed : their 
nerve had been sadly weakened by the bull snake. 

A squeal and chorus of grunts reassured them. 

“Here they are — a lot of them. Oh, dear, I wish 
we’d brought the coop along so we wouldn’t have 
to go back.” Jane parted the tall grass and discov- 
ered five of the fugitives huddled together. They 
were much livelier than the first ones and showed 
symptoms of bolting if the girls approached nearer. 

“I’ll go back for it,” said Katy. “I’ll go through 
the short grass and I won’t be afraid.” 

Chicken Little and Gertie watched and waited. 

“Isn’t that little white one with the pink ears and 
curly tail cunning? I didn’t suppose pigs could be 
so pretty.” 

“They are only pretty when they are weenties. 
As soon as they grow old enough to root in the mud, 
they are horrid.” 


136 Chicken Little Jane 

When Katy returned they anchored the red wagon 
with the chicken coop and the two captured piglets 
as close to the slough as possible. All three crept 
upon the pig cache cautiously. 

ir Pick out which one you’ll grab, for they are going 
to run sure,” Chicken Little admonished. 

They made a dash and each got a pig, but, alas, 
the two free ones made a dash also — a break for 
liberty worthy of an Indian. They selected routes 
immediately in front of, and immediately behind 
Chicken Little, whose attention was absorbed with 
trying to hold a squealing, squirming pig. The re- 
sult was disastrous to all concerned. Pig No. 1 
tripped her up neatly and she sat down hastily and 
unexpectedly upon Pig No. 2, who gave one agonized 
squeal, in which the pig in her arms joined. For- 
tunately, her victim did not get her whole weight or 
there would have been one pig the less in this vale 
of tears. Chicken Little squashed him down gently 
into some two inches of oozy mud and water. It 
splashed in all directions, baptizing Katy and Ger- 
tie and the fleeing pig as well as completing 
the ruin of Jane’s pink gingham frock, fresh that 
morning. 

The sight of her amazed and disgusted face gen- 
erously decorated with mud, was too much for Katy. 
She giggled till the tears stood in her eyes. Chicken 
Little was indignant. 


Pigs 137 

I guess you wouldn’t think it was so funny, if it 
was you,” she replied with dignity. Dignity did not 
become her tout ensemble. Katy went off into fresh 
screams of mirth. Chicken Little had stood about 
all she could that afternoon. Her face flamed with 
wrath, and, gathering up the struggling pig in her 
arms, she hurled it at Katy, as the only missile within 
reach. Piggy just missed Katy’s head, tumbling 
harmlessly into the ooze. Chicken Little was in- 
stantly remorseful, not on Katy’s account but on 
Piggy’s. 

Katy was furious. She didn’t say a 
word, but walked deliberately over to the coop, 
deposited her pig very gently and started toward 
the house. 

Gertie tried to stop her, but she shook her off. 
Chicken Little, too angry to care what happened, 
relieved herself of the rest of her ill-temper. 

“Go off and be hateful if you want to — a lot I 
care, Miss Katy Halford. I should think you’d be 
ashamed to act so when you are most fifteen.” 

A swift retort rose to Katy’s lips, but she decided 
it would be more impressive to remain dignifiedly 
silent. She stalked on. Gertie hesitated as to which 
of the belligerents she should follow, but finally de- 
cided in favor of the one who needed her worst. 
She put her pig in the coop and came to help Jane 
up. The latter was already ashamed of her out- 


Chicken Little Jane 


138 

burst, but was far from being ready to acknowledge 
it. The other three pigs had not gone far and they 
soon had them safely in the coop. They were de- 
bating as to whether they should give up hunting for 
the others, when a hail from the road brought aid 
and comfort. Katy had met Dr. Morton coming 
from the field on an errand and had told him what 
they were trying to do. He was delighted and sur- 
prised to see the seven rescued pigs. 

“Why, Chicken Little, I didn’t really suppose you 
were in earnest or ” Dr. Morton stopped sud- 

denly, he had just taken a good look at his only 
daughter — the look was effective. He threw back 
his head and roared. 

“Oh, if you could just see yourself, Jane!” 

This was adding insult to injury and Chicken Lit- 
tle burst into tears. “You can just hunt your old 
pigs yourself — I don’t think it’s nice of you to laugh 
when I tried so hard!” 

“Come, come, I beg your pardon, but you are 
enough to make an owl laugh, Humbug. It was fine 
of you to try to rescue the pigs. You girls deserve a 
great deal of credit, for it is a disagreeable, muddy 
job. I guess I’ll have to make it up to you. I’ll tell 
you what I’ll do. You may have this litter for your, 
very own, and we’ll send the little girls their share 
over the cost of keeping, when the pigs are sold. 
How will that do?” 


Pigs 139 

Chicken Little was not in the mood to be easily 

appeased. 

“Yes, but you say things are mine till you want to 
sell them, and then I never see the money.” 

This was touching a sore point. The Doctor had 
been a little remiss on the subject of the children’s 
ownership of their pets. He was nettled by this 
accusation. 

T ‘My dear, when I say a thing I mean it. I was 
about to add, though, that if I give you the entire 
proceeds of the pigs I shall expect you to attend to 
feeding them until they are big enough to be turned 
in with the drove.” 

“I thought the mother fed them.” 

“Well, the mother pig has to be fed.” 

“Do you really, truly, mean it, Father?” 

“Truly.” 

Chicken Little forgot the late unpleasantness. 
“Oh, goody, let’s call Katy back and tell her!” 

Katy was not so far away as might have been 
anticipated. Her wrath was dissipating also. 

Dr. Morton lingered to help them a few moments 
and to satisfy himself that they could not do them- 
selves any damage that a bath and the wash tub 
could not repair, then left them once more to their 
own resources. 

By four o’clock they had all but one of the missing 
pigs safely stowed in the coop. They were very 


140 Chicken Little Jane 

tired and hot, and decided to save the joy of hunting 
for the last pig for Ernest and Sherm in the even- 
ing. 

It was well they did. The wee stray would have 
led them a chase. He had found his way almost to 
the creek, and it took the boys a good hour of wad- 
ing and beating the swamp grass to discover him. 

Just as Chicken Little was dropping off to sleep 
that night, Katy roused her. 

“Do you suppose we’ll get as much as five dollars 
apiece from those pigs?” 




jprER. Viu 
■ y A PARTY AND 
„ A PICNIC 

Gertie looked wistful. Dick and Alice were going 
on to Denver that morning to return a month later 
for the little girls. All three were to drive into 
town with Dr. Morton to see them off. The mere 
thought of anyone going away made Gertie a little 
homesick. She went out to the chicken yard, where 
nine of the young prairie chickens were flourishing 
under the care of a much-deceived hen, who had 
adopted them with the mistaken notion that they 
were her own egg kin. The little mottled things 
seemed very much out of place among the domestic 
fowls. They were wild and shy and astonishingly 
fleet on their reed-like legs. Gertie loved to watch 
them. Two of the chicks had died the first night, 
and one, two days later. But the rest survived, and, 
141 


Chicken Little Jane 


142 

in the course of time, flew away to join their wild 
mates. 

“Dear me, I wonder what we can do next?” said 
Chicken Little, as they watched the train pull out 
with Dick waving from the rear platform. 

Dick’s and Alice’s going seemed to have finished 
things, at least for the time being. Her question 
was answered as soon as she got home. 

“Jane,” said her mother, “I have just received an 
invitation for you and the girls that I am a little 
doubtful about. Ernest and Sherm are invited, too, 
but not to remain for the night.” 

“Stay all night? Where, Mother, where?” 

“With Mamie Jenkins. The Jenkins family are 
hardly as refined as I could wish for your associates; 
still they are good religious people, if they are plain, 
and Katy and Gertie might enjoy going to a country 
party.” 

“A party? O Mother, please let us go.” 

“I don’t mind so much your coming to the party, 
but they want to have you stay overnight and at- 
tend a picnic some of the young people are getting 
up for the next afternoon.” 

Katy was as eager as Jane for the festivity and 
Mrs. Morton was at length persuaded to pocket 
her scruples and permit the girls to accept Mamie’s 
invitation. Ernest and Sherm were also delighted 
at the prospect of a frolic. They were to take the 


A Party and a Picnic 143 

girls over and leave them for the night, returning 
the next afternoon for the picnic, which was to start 
from the Jenkin’s farm. 

But when the day of the party arrived, Gertie 
backed out, begging to be left at home with Mrs. 
Morton. The thought of meeting so many strangers 
frightened her. 

“I doubt if she would enjoy it. She would be the 
youngest one there^ — most of them will be from four- 
teen to twenty. The neighbors live so far apart, 
they have to combine different ages in order to find 
guests enough for a party.” 

At first, Chicken Little would not hear to Ger- 
tie’s remaining behind, but finding that she would 
really be happier at home, stopped urging her. Jane 
and Katy were soon joyfully planning what they 
should wear. They were to go in their party frocks, 
each taking another dress along for the morning and 
the picnic. Jane was to wear Alice’s gift. Katy 
had a dainty ruffled muslin with cherry-colored sash 
and hair ribbons. 

“I was afraid I wasn’t going to have a single 
chance to wear it here,” she remarked naively. 

The boys were busy shining their shoes, and per- 
forming certain mysteries of shaving with very little 
perceptible change in their appearance. Ernest felt 
that he could not possibly go without a new necktie, 
but as no one was going to town before the event, 


144 Chicken Little Jane 

he had to content himself with borrowing one from 
Frank. 

It took the combined efforts of Marian and Ger- 
tie and Mrs. Morton to get the revellers dressed to 
their satisfaction. Gertie waited on the two girls as 
patiently as any maid. Marian was in great demand 
by the boys to coax in refractory cuff buttons and 
give a “tony” twist to the ties. 

“Is tony the very latest, Ernest?” 

“That’s what Sherm says. Just make the bow a 
little more perky, can’t you, Marian? I don’t want 
to look like a country Jake.” 

“Ernest, you are just the boy to go to Annapolis; 
you are so fussy about your clothes.” 

“Golly, I hope I do get to go. Father hasn’t 
heard from the Senator yet, but he may be away 
from home.” 

Sherm was struggling with his tie, getting red and 
hot in the process. He had just tied it nearly to 
his satisfaction, when he carelessly gave it a jerk 
and had it all to do over again. 

“Caesar’s Ghost!” he exclaimed vengefully, 
“what do they make these things so pesky slip- 
pery for?” 

Marian laughed and Sherm colored in embarrass- 
ment over his outburst. 

“Please excuse me, but this is the fifth time I’ve 
tied the critter.” 


A Party and a Picnic 145 

“Let me try.” Marian turned him to the light 
and had the bow nicely exact in no time. 

The girls found their sourse of woe in their hair. 
Katy, having learned that most of the young people 
would be older than themselves, decided to put her 
hair up, and look grown up, too. Mrs. Morton 
was horrified and made Katy take it down. Katy, 
though rebellious, dared not oppose, her hostess 
openly. She contented herself with taking a handful 
of hair pins along and putting it up after she reached 
Mamie’s. To be sure the heavy braids piled upon 
her small head looked rather queer, especially with 
her short skirts, which she could not contrive to 
lengthen. But Katy made up for this defect by an 
unwonted dignity, and actually persuaded a majority 
of the people she met that she was sixteen at the 
very least. 

Country folk gather early and they found the fun 
well started when they arrived. The Jenkins family 
had come to the neighborhood about a year before 
from Iowa. 

The farmhouse was new and rather more preten- 
tious than most on the creek. Lace curtains with 
robust patterns draped the windows in fresh-starched 
folds. A green and red ingrain carpet covered the 
floor, while the entire Jenkins family — there were 
four olive branches — done in crayon by a local pho- 
tographer, adorned the walls. It would be more 


146 Chicken Little Jane 

truthful to say, adorned three walls. The fourth 
was sacred to a real oil painting in an unlimited gilt 
frame, which had come as a prize for extra sub- 
scriptions to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. Mrs. 
Jenkins regarded this treasure almost with rever- 
ence. “I do think it is real uplifting to have a work 
of art in the house, don’t you, Mrs. Brown?” she 
had been heard to remark to a neighbor who failed 
to notice this gem. The family bible and a red plush 
photograph album rested on the marble-topped 
table, usually placed in the exact center of the room. 
To-night, it was pushed back against the wall to 
make more room for the games. 

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were rigid Methodists and 
would not tolerate any such worldly amusement as 
dancing. Kissing games were substituted, and if, as 
the Jenkins believed, these were more elevating, they 
were certainly coarser and rougher than the dancing 
would have been. 

Mamie had attended the Garland High School 
for one year and had acquired different ideas. She 
would have much preferred the dancing, but her 
parents were firm. Mamie deemed herself a full- 
fledged young lady at fifteen. Her highest ambi- 
tions were to have “style” and plenty of beaux. 

Ernest and Sherm had to find a place to tie the 
horses. They lingered also a moment at the pumo 
to wash the leathery smell of the harness from their 


A Party and a Picnic 147 

hands — a fastidious toucn that would have subjected 
them to much guying if the other boys had seen 
them. 

So Chicken Little led Katy into the crowded room, 
unsupported. There was no hall or entry and they 
were plunged directly into the thick of the party. 
Many of the country lads and lasses were her mates 
at the district school and greeted her cordially, eye- 
ing Katy, however, with frankly curious stares. 
Mrs. Jenkins relieved her embarrassment by taking 
them upstairs to remove their wraps. She intro- 
duced herself to Katy before Jane could get out the 
little speech of presentation her mother had urged 
her not to forget, since Katy, being a stranger, 
should be made to feel at home as quickly as pos- 
sible. Chicken Little hated introducing people and 
had been dreading the ordeal, but kindly Mrs. Jenk- 
ins took Katy by the hand and presented her to the 
whole roomful at one fell swoop. 

“This is Miss Katy Halford, young folks, and I 
want you all to introduce yourselves and see that she 
has a good time or she’ll think you are a lot of green 
country jays who haven’t any manners.” 

“King William was King James’s son” was in full 
swing. The young folks made places for the two 
girls in the ring and promptly drew in Ernest and 
Sherm as soon as they entered. The lilting tune was 
sung lustily while the supposed victim in the center, 


Chicken Little Jane 


148 

a handsome lad of sixteen with bold, black eyes and 
dark curls, surveyed the girls, big and little, with an 
evident enjoyment of his privileges. 

Several of the older boys interrupted their singing 
to give him advice. 

“Take the city girl, Grant, buck up and show your 
manners.” “Bet you knew who you’d choose before 
you left home.” “Don’t let on that you don’t know 
which girl you want — Mamie’s biting her lips al- 
ready to wash off that kiss.” 

The boy returned or ignored this badinage as he 
saw fit. 

Mamie, however, was indignantly protesting that 
he needn’t try to kiss her. Grant looked in her di- 
rection and smiled as the fateful instant arrived. In- 
deed, he started toward her, then mischievously 
whirled around and seizing Chicken Little, who was 
whispering to Katy that Grant was Mamie’s beau, 
kissed her with a resounding smack. 

Chicken Little was taken so unawares that she had 
time neither to blush nor to protest or struggle, as 
was considered etiquette on such occasions. She 
didn’t even try to rub it off, as was also customary. 
She just looked at him with such a funny mixture 
of surprise and dismay that everybody roared, in- 
cluding Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins and some of the 
older neighbors who had come in to see the fun. 

“Here, Chicken Little, you need practice,” and 


A Party and a Picnic 149 

“Chicken Little acts as if she didn’t know what kisses 
were. You’ll have to have a rehearsal beforehand 
next time, Grant!” “Why, Grant? What’s the 
matter with the rest of us ?” These comments were 
open and noisy. 

Ernest took all this coarse bantering at his young 
sister’s expense good-naturedly. He knew no offence 
was intended. He had been present at a number of 
these rural frolics. But Sherm, town-bred and unac- 
customed to this form of amusement, was distinctly 
displeased both at the kiss and the talk. He got 
Chicken Little off to one side as soon as he could. 

“Say, Chicken Little, don’t let the boys kiss you.” 

Chicken Little looked concerned. “I don’t like 
them to, Sherm, but I can’t help it if I play — and 
they’d think I was awfully stuck up and rude if I 
refused.” 

“Does your mother know they have this sort of 
games?” 

Chicken Little made a little grimace. “Don’t go 
and be grown-up and horrid, Sherm. Everybody 
does it here. They’ll stop this pretty soon and play 
clap in and clap out or forfeits.” 

Her big brown eyes were lifted so innocently and 
sweetly that Sherm couldn’t say any more, but he 
felt a curious desire to fight every time a big boy so 
much as stared at Jane. 

“She’s such a kid!” he explained the feeling to 


150 Chicken Little Jane 

himself, “and Ernest isn’t looking after her at 
all.” 

Katy entered into the romping heart and soul. 
Katy was playing young lady. Her pink cheeks and 
laughing eyes and little flirtatious ways were very 
popular with the boys — so popular that Mamie was 
vexed because many of her mates seemed to have 
eyes only for the city girl, as she called her behind 
her back. 

Mamie eased her mind by treating her special 
friends haughtily. She got even with the recreant 
Grant by choosing Ernest the very first time in Post 
Office. She even put some of the girls up to boycot- 
ting the boys who were hanging round Katy, for one 
entire game, persuading them to choose Ernest and 
Sherm alternately till the others were jealously 
wrathful without being quite sure whether it was 
accident or conspiracy. Considering his scruples 
about kissing, Sherm submitted most meekly. He 
had the grace to color when Chicken Little remarked 
carelessly: “It wasn’t so bad as you thought it would 
be, was it, Sherm?” 

“Oh, it’s different with boys,” he retorted loftily. 
“Little girls like you don’t understand.” 

“Little girls ! I suppose you think yourself a man 
grown. You needn’t feel so big because you’re most 
seventeen. I heard Dick say a boy of seventeen 
wasn’t really any older than a girl of fifteen, because 


A Party and a Picnic 151 

girls grow up quicker. So there, you’re not much 
more than a year older than I am!” 

Sherm’s “little girl” rankled not only that evening 
but for weeks afterwards. She told Katy and 
Mamie in strict confidence after they had gone up- 
stairs that night. 

“I’d show him if I were you, Jane,” advised 
Mamie the experienced. 

Chicken Little needed no urging, but she was in 
doubt how to proceed. 

“My, I wish I was awfully beautiful and grown 
up. I’d make him fall so many billions deep in love 
with me he couldn’t squeak.” Jane felt positively 
vindictive whenever she thought of Sherm’s patron- 
izing tone. She had neglected to mention to the 
girls the little conversation that had preceded her re- 
mark to Sherm. She didn’t consider it necessary to 
tell everything she knew. 

Mamie tittered. “Pooh, you sound as if you had 
been reading Sir Walter Scott. They don’t do things 
that way nowadays. When I was in town last win- 
ter at school I had lots of boys gone on me, and I’m 
not a raving, tearing beauty either.” 

Mamie looked as if she expected her guests to 
contradict her, but they were too much impressed 
with her conquests to do anything so rude. A little 
disappointed, but finding their absorbed expressions 
encouraging, Mamie preceded to retail her adven- 


Chicken Little Jane 


152 

tures. Boiled down, these were mainly a box of 
candy and various walks taken at recesses and noons, 
with an occasional escort to a party. They were 
sufficiently thrilling to the others, who had never 
been permitted even such mild forms of dissipation. 

“My, wouldn’t I catch it if Papa ever caught me 
walking with a boy!” 

Katy painted the paternal wrath with a real relish. 
It seemed to furnish an adequate excuse for her 
having nothing to relate and put her on a little pin- 
nacle of superior breeding as well. Her parents 
looked after her. It was only more ordinary people 
who permitted their daughters to run about at fif- 
teen. 

Mamie was keen enough to realize this and she 
promptly resented Katy’s patronizing tone. 

“Oh, Pa would have been mad, too, if he had 
known. But I was staying with my aunt. She didn’t 
care what I did, just so I was on time to meals and 
didn’t run around after dark.” 

Katy was determined to keep up her end. “We 
used to have wonderful times at the church oyster 
suppers. One night last winter Dr. Wade — you 
don’t remember him, Chicken Little, he’s only been 
in Centerville about a year. Well, he took me in 
for oysters and bought me candy and three turns at 
the grab bag. And he is a grown-up man — he’s been 
a doctor for over two years.” 


A Party and a Picnic 1 £3 

Katy would hardly have told this story if Gertie 
had been there. She neglected to mention that Dr. 
Wade had kindly included Gertie and five other 
young girls in these courtesies. Or that he had re- 
marked to Mrs. Halford that he loved to be with 
children because he missed his own brothers and 
sisters sadly. But Gertie was not present to mar the 
effect of this story with further particulars. Mamie 
began to rack her brain for forgotten attentions 
worthy to be classed with this superb generosity. 
Poor Chicken Little was hopelessly out-classed. 
Nothing more thrilling than being singled out in 
games and Blackman at school had happened to her. 

“Grant Stowe said you had the prettiest eyes of 
any girl here to-night. I heard him tell Jennie Brown 
so when she asked him whether he liked blue eyes 
or brown best. She is the awfulest thing — always 
fishing for compliments.” 

This was generous of Mamie, for Grant was the 
one who had passed her by so recently. But Katy’s 
eyes were also distanced and Mamie had been very 
much thrilled by hearing that Ernest might go to 
Annapolis. Further, he had chosen her twice that 
evening. She felt amiably disposed toward Ernest’s 
sister. 

When the tales of past glories were exhausted, the 
conversation grew intermittent, being punctuated by 
frequent yawns. They were just on the point of 


154 Chicken Little Jane 

dropping off to sleep when Mamie suddenly opened 
her eyes and sat up in bed with a jerk. 

“Music! Don’t you hear it? I shouldn’t wonder 
if some of the boys were out serenading. Oh, I do 
hope they’ll come here.’’ 

Katy and Chicken Little listened breathlessly. 

“It is!’’ 

“Yes, and it’s coming nearer.” 

All three hopped out of bed and crouched down 
by the window. The moon was setting, but there 
was still a faint radiance. The strains were grow- 
ing more distinct. 

“I bet it’s Grant Stowe and his two cousins from 
the Prairie Hill district. They are staying all night 
with him and are going to the picnic to-morrow. 
Don’t you remember that red-headed boy?” 

“It sounds like a banjo and guitar,” said Katy. 
“Oh, I do love a guitar. It always makes me think 
of ‘Gaily the troubadour.’ ” Katy gave a wriggle 
of delight at this romantic ending to the night’s 
festivities. She was already planning to tell the 
girls at home about the wonderful serenade. 

“The tinkle tinkle of the thin notes grew stronger 
and clearer and they found that a third instrument, 
which had puzzled them, was a mouth organ. 

“I didn’t suppose anybody could really make 
music with a mouth organ, but it goes nicely with the 
others.” Chicken Little, like Katy, was more ex- 


A Party and a Picnic i ^ 

cited over the serenade than the party. It seemed 
so delightfully young ladyfied. 

The trio had one awful moment, for the music 
seemed to be dying away and still there was no 
human in sight. Suddenly it stopped altogether. 
They listened and waited — not a sound rewarded 
them. 

“I ^ink it’s downright mean if they’ve gone by.” 
Mamie’s tone was more than injured. 

The words were hardly out of her mouth when a 
stealthy foot-fall came directly beneath their win- 
dow, and guitar, mandolin, and mouth organ burst 
forth into “My Bonnie,” supported after the open- 
ing strains by half a dozen boyish voices. 

The boys had crept in so close to the wall of the 
house that the girls had not discovered them. The 
young ladies ducked at the first sound, and hastily 
slipped their dresses over their night gowns so they 
could look out again. 

“O dear,” said Mamie, “I almost forgot my curl 
papers.” 

They were arrayed in time to reward the sere- 
nades with a vigorous clapping of hands, Father 
ancf Mother Jenkins joining in from the window of 
their bedroom downstairs. 

“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” floated up next, fol- 
lowed by “Over the Garden Wall,” which, if not 


Chicken Little Jane 


156 

choice, had the distinction of being sung in New 
York, as Grant Stowe proudly informed them. 

It was three o’clock past, before they finally set- 
tled down in bed once more. Faint suggestions of 
dawn were already apparent. 

“It’s not much use to go to bed, Father always gets 
up at six,” mourned Mamie. 

A brilliant idea struck Katy. “Suppose we stay 
up all night. Grace Dart said she did once when 
her father was so sick, and she said it was the most 
wonderful thing to see the sun rise when you hadn’t 
been to bed at all.” 

This proposal met with instant favor. They 
clambered out of bed and lit the small oil lamp, 
wrapping themselves in quilts and petticoats impar- 
tially, for the air was growing chilly. The next three 
hours were the longest any of the three had ever 
known. In spite of fortune telling, and a thrilling 
story which Mamie read in tragic whispers, the min- 
utes shuffled along like hours. Yawns interrupted 
almost every sentence and much mutual prodding 
and sharp reproaches were necessary to keep their 
heavy eyes open. They were too sleepy to care 
whether the sun rose in the usual sedate way or 
pirouetted up chasing a star. In fact, they forgot all 
about the expected sunrise. They wanted just two 
things — sleep and something to eat. 

The call to breakfast was even sweeter than the 


A Party and a Picnic 157 

serenade had been. Father and Mother Jenkins 
were concerned at their jaded appearance. 

Seems like parties don’t agree with you young 
ones none too well. I reckon we won’t have them 
very often,” Father Jenkins remarked tartly. His 
own eyes smarted from loss of sleep. 

I don t believe you ought to go to the picnic this 
afternoon if you are feeling so played out,” Mother 
Jenkins added. “Your Ma will think I haven’t taken 
good care of you. It was them good-for-nothing 
boys a-coming that wore you plumb out.” 

Generous cups of strong coffee — a luxury not per- 
mitted to either Chicken Little or Katy at home — 
woke them up and they got through the morning 
nicely. Not for worlds would they have missed that 
picnic. 

But even the coffee could not carry them through 
the afternoon. They were the butts of the entire 
party on account of their dullness and heavy eyes. 

Ernest expressed his disgust with his sister openly. 
“Well, I think Mother’d better keep you at home 
till you’re old enough not to be such a baby.” Jane 
had been nodding in spite of herself. 

“Looks to me as if you girls had stayed up all 
night!” exclaimed Grant Stowe. 

Mamie roused enough to retort: “Well, I guess 
you didn’t get any too much sleep yourself.” 

“We can keep awake if we didn’t. But if it has 


158 Chicken Little Jane 

this kind of effect on you, we’ll leave you out the 
next time we go serenading.” 

It had been arranged that they should catch fish 
for the picnic supper. The girls had brought a huge 
frying pan and the butter and corn meal to cook them 
in. As soon as the teams were cared for, the boys 
got out fishing tackle and bait and the party broke 
up into small groups for the fishing. Grant Stowe 
offered to help Chicken Little with her line. She 
found this courtesy on his part embarrassing, for 
Katy and Mamie exchanged looks, and she was so 
utterly sleepy, that she would have preferred Ernest 
or Sherm so she wouldn’t be expected to talk. 
Chicken Little had gone to school with Grant the 
preceding winter. He was always a leader in their 
school games and a great favorite. 

Grant found a snug place beside a deep pool that 
promised catfish at the very least, and might be ex- 
pected to yield a few trout. He made her comfort- 
able on the spreading roots of an elm growing up- 
ward with difficulty from a steep bank. Grant smiled 
at her as he handed her the rod and tossed the baited 
hook into the stillest part of the pool. 

“There, you ought to get a bite soon. This is one 
of the best places on the creek for catfish. Say, what 
did you girls do to yourselves that you are so used 
up to-day? You didn’t take a five-mile walk or any- 
thing after we left, did you?” 


A Party and a Picnic 1 59 

Jane laughed. “Don’t you wish you knew?” 

Oh, I’ll find out, but I wish you’d tell me.” 
Grant looked at her from under his long black 
lashes. His tone was distinctly wheedling. 

Chicken Little laughed again and shook her head. 

Grant threw his own line in, seating himself a 
little lower down on the bank; and quiet reigned for 
several minutes. 


But the boy was determined to get the secret from 
her. After a tedious silence, he began in a low tone 
so that he would not disturb the fish : “You know, 
Chicken Little, I always did think you were the pret- 
tiest girl in school, but you were such a kid you never 
took the trouble to look at a fellow. Seems to me 
you might be nice now and tell me what you did.” 

He neglected to mention the fact that he had bet 
Mamie a silk handkerchief against a plate of taffy 
that he would find out what they had been up to 
before night. He received no response. 

“Oh, come now, be a trump and tell a fellow.” 

He glanced around this time with a tenderly re- 
proachful look. This tenderness speedily vanished. 
Jane was peacefully asleep, her head supported 
against the tree trunk. 

The boy’s face flushed wrathfully for an instant, 
but he had a saving sense of humor. “Serves me 
right for trying to get the best of a kid, I guess,” he 
said to himself. He let her sleep on undisturbed 


160 Chicken Little Jane 

until the sound of voices announced the approach of 
some of the others, when he hastily wakened her. 
He did not intend to be laughed at for the rest of 
the day. 

Chicken Little found it hard to wake up and was 
heavy-eyed and stupid the remainder of the after- 
noon. Fortunately for her and Katy, Ernest had 
orders from his mother to be home by dark. 

Patient Gertie was waiting expectantly to hear 
about the good times, but she could hardly extract 
three words from either of the revellers. Parties 
and boys and finery were all stale, but their neatly 
made bed looked like heaven. 


**su« 


•Chapter ix 

BREAD AND" POLLIWGGS 


Three days elapsed before Katy and Jane could 
settle down to the quiet, daily life of the ranch. If 
Gertie had found them disappointingly mute that 
first evening, she never had to complain again. They 
went over and over the thrilling events of the night 
and the picnic the next afternoon, till Gertie got 
sick of hearing what “Mamie said” and how he 
looked and how wonderful the serenade had been. 
Indeed, these events seemed to grow in importance 
the farther off they were. Gertie was seldom pet- 
tish, but Katy’s seventeenth repetition of what Grant 
Stowe’s cousin said to her while they were fishing 
left her cold. 

“Shut up, Katy, I’m sick of hearing about it. I 
don’t care what he said and I just know he thought 
you were a silly little girl trying to seem grown up 

161 


162 


Chicken Little Jane 


when you aren’t! You know Mother wouldn’t like 
you to act so, and I guess Mrs. Morton’d be 
ashamed of you, too, if she knew.” 

“Gertie Halford, if you dare tell!” 

“Thank you, I’m no tattle tale! I intend to for- 
get all about it as soon as ever I can. But I know 
Sherm thought you were silly from something he 
said.” 

Chicken Little related the most presentable of 
their doings to Marian. Marian didn’t say much 
at the time, but some days afterwards she told them 
tales of the adventures of her own early teens. She 
ended a little meaningly: “Do you know, I believe 
girls can be sillier from thirteen to sixteen than at 
any other age? They’re exactly like that little buff 
cochin rooster you laugh at, because he tries to crow 
and strut before he knows how. I hope you girls 
won’t be in a hurry to grow up. There are so many 
nice things you can do now that you will have to 
give up after a while.” 

July was growing unpleasantly hot. The morn- 
ings were dewy and fresh, but by noon they were 
glad to hunt a shady place. The apple orchard was 
a favorite haunt, and the Weeping Willows when 
the wind was from the right direction. They took 
books and crochetting, sometimes the checker board 
or dominoes, and spent the long summer afternoons 
there, with Jilly tumbling over their feet and Huz 


Bread and Polliwogs 163 

and Buz dozing alongside or lazily snapping at the 
plaguing flies. 

They had been picking blackberries mornings for 
Mrs. Morton’s preserving. The rescued litter of 
pigs was also taking much time. The mother pig 
had developed an appetite that was truly appalling. 
It seemed to take endless gallon pails of sour milk 
and baskets of fruit parings to satisfy her. Dr. 
Morton would not let them feed corn in summer. 

‘Dear me,” said Katy, “how big do little pigs 
have to be before they can be turned into the corral 
with the others?” 

“Oh, six or eight weeks, I guess.” 

“They are getting awfully smelly!” remarked Ger- 
tie, holding her nose, “and they aren’t a bit prett)> 
any more.” 

“I know and Father said last night we’d have to 
begin and feed the pigs some, too, before long.” 
Chicken Little sighed. This speculation in pigs had 
its unpleasant side. 

“I guess we’d have to bring a lot more stuff if 
Ernest and Sherm didn’t help us out. They give 
them things to eat lots of times. But I think Jim 
Bart might keep the pen a little cleaner,” Katy ob- 
served. 

“He’s so busy he doesn’t have time.” 

Another morning occupation was bread-making. 
Dr. Morton had offered a brand new dollar to the 


Chicken Little Jane 


164 

girl who would bring him the first perfect loaf of 
bread. They were taking turns under Mrs. Mor- 
ton’s teaching, but it did seem as if more things could 
happen to bread. Katy would have had her perTect 
loaf, if she hadn’t let the dough rise too long. The 
loaves were beautiful to look at, but slightly sour, 
alas ! Chicken Little spoiled her prize batch by sit- 
ting down to read and letting it burn. 

Gertie’s first and second were very good, but a 
trifle too solid. Katy won out on her third, and 
produced a loaf so light and crisply brown that 
Marian said she was envious. 

The others wanted to stop when Katy secured the 
dollar, but Mrs. Morton persuaded them to persist 
until they could equal Katy’s. 

“You may send one to Captain Clarke, if you 
wish.” 

This stimulated their waning interest and they 
tried to produce that perfect loaf. A week went by 
before Mrs. Morton nodded approval, saying: “Yes, 
that is nice enough for a present. I am sure the 
Captain will like it.” 

The girls had planned to take it over on the 
ponies, but Mrs. Morton wanted to send over 
two gallons of blackberries also, which was more 
than they could manage. 

“I am sending Ernest and Sherm down the creek 
this evening on an errand,” said Dr. Morton, “and 


Bread and Polliwogs 165 

they can stop at Captain Clarke’s and leave the 
things. You girls can go some other time.” 

Chicken Little decided to send some of her spare 
pinks. She came in with a great handful just as the 
boys were ready to start. 

“Where is your loaf, Chicken Little?” asked her 
mother. 

“O dear, I forgot to wrap it up. It won’t take a 
minute.” 

“Take one of the fringed napkins to wrap Lt 
in, then put paper around that,” called her 
mother. 

“Where did you put the bread, Mother?” 

“In the bread box, of course, child, where did 
you suppose?” 

“There isn’t anything but old bread in the box.” 

“Well, ask Annie.” 

“She’s gone to Benton’s.” 

“Well, I think you’re old enough to find four 
loaves of bread in a small pantry.” Mrs. Morton 
got up, disgusted. 

Sherm stood waiting with the tin pail of berries 
and the bunch of flowers in his hands. Ernest was 
holding the team out at the road. 

When Mrs. Morton disappeared Sherm remarked 
placidly: “Well, I guess I might as well take these 
things out. I’ll come back for the bread.” 

Mrs. Morton could be heard exclaiming about 


i66 Chicken Little Jane 

something in the kitchen. Sherm smiled a fleeting 
smile and departed. 

Sounds of hurried footfalls, of boxes and pans 
being moved, came from the kitchen. Somebody 
ran hastily down cellar. “It isn’t here, Mother.” 
Jane’s tone was emphatic. 

“What do you suppose is the matter?” exclaimed 
Katy. She departed to see, followed by Gertie. 
The sound of fresh disturbances floated in from the 
cuisine. Dr. Morton grew curious and went out to 
investigate. Sherm came back as far as the front 
door and stood waiting. 

Presently, Mrs. Morton entered, flushed and an- 
noyed. 

T ‘It’s the queerest thing I ever heard of — that en- 
tire baking of bread has vanished. Annie is per- 
fectly honest and she knew we were expecting to 
send a loaf to the Captain. You haven’t seen any 
tramps about, have you, Sherm? You don’t sup- 
pose the dogs could ” Mrs. Morton glanced 

suspiciously at Buz asleep on the path outside. 

“Nonsense, Mother, the dogs couldn’t get away 
with whole loaves of bread and leave no trace. They 
are not overly fond of bread, anyhow.” 

“Possibly Annie may have put it in some un- 
heard-of place — girls are so exasperating. I’ll go 
look again.” 

A third search was no more successful than the 


Bread and Polliwogs 167 

previous ones had been. They were obliged to send 
the boys on without the bread. 

Both Chicken Little and Gertie mourned, for they 
had combined forces in this baking and were im- 
mensely proud of their effort. 

“We never can get it so nice again — I just know !” 

Mrs. Morton had been studying. “You don’t 
suppose the boys could have meddled with it, do 
you?” 

Katy looked up with a gleam in her eye. “They 
were laughing about something fit to kill just be- 
fore supper and they wouldn’t tell what it was.” 

“But why — I don’t see.” Mrs. Morton was puz- 
zled. 

“To tease the girls, possibly. But I don’t see how 
they could make away with four big loaves without 
being noticed.” 

“If Ernest Morton took that bread, I’ll never 
forgive him as long as I live !” Chicken Little’s jaw 
set ominously. “You just watch me get even.” 

“Come now, Chicken Little, we’re merely guess- 
ing the boys took it. Annie may have put it away 
in a new place, forgetting that you would want it 
to-night,” her father tried to pacify her. 

Gertie didn’t say much, but it was plain that she 
sympathized with Jane. An hour later the three 
girls went out to the road to watch for the boys’ re- 
turn. The lads were evidently taking their time. 


i68 


Chicken Little Jane 

Nine o’clock came — half-past nine — still no boys ! 
Mrs. Morton came out and sent the girls in to bed. 
They were just dropping off to sleep when the lads 
drove up. 

At breakfast the next morning the entire family 
fell upon Ernest and Sherm and demanded news of 
the bread. Annie had returned and assured Mrs. 
Morton that it had been safely stored in the bread 
box before she left the house the evening before. 

“Bread? What bread?” asked Ernest, rather too 
innocently. 

“Ernest Morton, you did something with that 
bread I was going to send the Captain. You have 
got to tell me where you hid it.” 

“Chicken Little Jane Morton, I give you my word 
of honor I didn’t touch your old bread and I don’t 
know where it is.” 

Ernest assumed a highly injured air. Sherm took 
a hasty swallow of water and nearly choked. 

The family had come near believing Ernest, but 
Sherm’s convulsed face roused their suspicion afresh. 

“If you didn’t, you got Sherm to,” said Katy 
shrewdly. “That’s what you were laughing about 
last night — I know it was.” 

“That’s like a girl always suspecting a fellow of 
being up to some deviltry. Maybe you think we’ll 
keep on feeding your old pigs if you treat us this 
way.” 


Bread and Polliwogs 169 

Dr. Morton scanned the boys closely, but did not 
say anything. 

Jane and Katy turned on Sherm. 

“Did you take the bread?” Chicken Little had 
fire in her eye. 

Sherm tried guile “Chicken Little, do I look 
hungry enough to steal your bread? Mrs. Morton 
has been feeding me on good things ever since I 
came, why should I want to make away with four 
loaves of bread?” Sherm was almost eloquent. 

“Nevertheless,” observed Katy, “you don’t deny 
that you took it.” 

Try as they would, they could get no satisfaction 
from the boys. 

“Well, I know they did and I’m going to make 
’em wish they hadn’t.” Chicken Little puckered up 
her brow to think hard. • 

“Of course they did or Sherm would have denied 
it instanter. Let’s think up something real mean.” 
Katy stood ready to second any effort. 

Gertie had been in a brown study. “The boys are 
going off some place to-night. I heard Ernest ask 
your mother if she had cleaned that spot off his Sun- 
day suit, where somebody spilled ice cream on him 
at the party.” 

“I bet they’re going to see Mamie Jenkins . . . 
they’re trying to sneak off without our knowing it.” 
Jane’s indignation was not lessened by this news. 


Chicken Little Jane 


170 

Katy leaned forward and whispered something. 

Jane and Gertie clapped their hands. 

“All right, the very thing.” 

At dinner the boys were rather surprised to find 
that the young ladies had dropped the subject of the 
bread. They were inclined to take it up again, but 
nobody seemed interested. Ernest was a little vexed 
to have his father say before them all : “It will be all 
right about Sherm’s riding the bay, only don’t stay 
out late, boys.” 

The girls went upstairs soon after dinner and 
there was much giggling from their room for the 
next two hours. 

“Where ever can we put the clothes where they 
can’t find them? They make such a big bundle.” 

“O Chicken Little, I’ve thought of something that 
will be better than hiding!” Katy’s eyes sparkled 
with mischief as she unfolded her scheme. “Let’s 
hurry and fix a cord.” 

“There’s a hook there already we can use. 
Mother had a hanging basket outside the window 
one summer.” 

“We can pretend to take a walk,” added Katy. 

“Pshaw, I want to hear them — it will be half the 
fun,” Gertie objected. 

“I said pretend — we will sneak back through the 
orchard. Of course, we’d have to be here to do it, 
Goosie.” 


Bread and Polliwogs 171 

That night Mrs. Morton had an early supper at 
the request of the boys. Immediately after, they 
armed themselves with sundry pitchers of hot water 
and retired upstairs. The girls also disappeared. 

All went well for some minutes except that Ernest 
cut himself in his haste to shave. Presently, a call 
for mother floated downstairs. Mrs. Morton had 
gone across the road to visit with Marian. Receiv- 
ing no reply, Ernest called again lustily. Dr. Mor- 
ton, coming in just then, replied: 

“Your mother is not here, what do you want?” 

“Send Chicken Little then.” 

“She’s gone for a walk with Katy and Gertie.” 

“Thunderation ! I’ve got to have somebody. 
Won’t you please call Mother?” 

At this moment three girlish forms slipped into 
the grape arbor immediately below the boys’ win- 
dow, and concealed themselves in its deepest shadow. 

Mrs. Morton came patiently home to attend to 
the needs of her favorite son. 

“What is it, Ernest?” 

“Where did you put our Sunday clothes?” 

“Dear me, aren’t they in the closet?” 

“In the closet? Do you suppose I’d call you home 
if they were in the closet? They aren’t anywhere!” 
Ernest’s tone verged on the disrespectful. 

Mrs. Morton toiled upstairs with a sigh. Was 
there to be a repetition of the bread episode? 


*7 2 Chicken Little Jane 

Ernest had spoken the truth, the aforesaid clothes 
were not anywhere. The boys exchanged glances 
both wrathful and sheepish. Ernest had already 
exhausted every swear word that his mother’s pres- 
ence permitted. Sherm, also restrained by her pres- 
ence he had retired to bed while she searched their 
room and closet — thought all the exclamations he 
hesitated to utter. Three young young ladies in the 
arbor beneath listened to such fragments of conver- 
sation as floated down to them with unholy glee. 

“Well, Ernest, they’re certainly not here; I’ll go 
look in Chicken Little’s room.” 

Ernest accompanied her. Sherm scrambled out 
of bed and speedily resumed his ordinary wearing 
apparel. He was startled to perceive a bulky object 
suddenly darken their window. It was a peculiar- 
looking bundle from which coat sleeves and trousers’ 
legs dangled indiscriminately. He had no difficulty 
in recognizing their missing clothes. He rushed to 
the window and raised the screen, calling to Ernest 
excitedly. He half expected to see the things dis- 
appear as mysteriously as they had come, but the 
bundle remained stationary. It had been raised to 
the window by means of a pulley contrived from an 
old clothes line and the hanging basket hook. The 
end of the cord was hidden in the arbor. 

The boys secured their possessions, hastily assur- 
ing themselves that they were all there. Mrs. Mor- 


Bread and Polliwogs 173 

ton started thankfully downstairs, but had barely 
reached the foot when a vigorous exclamation and a 
loud “Mother!” recalled her. 

Mrs. Morton had never seen Ernest so furious. 
Sherm didn’t say much, but his face was wrathfully 
red. 

“What now?” 

“Look at this!” Ernest’s voice was tragic as he 
held the garment up to view. His trousers’ legs had 
been neatly stitched across twice on the sewing ma- 
chine. Sherm’s, ditto. All four pair of sleeves were 
also carefully stitched with a tight tension, so they 
could not be readily ripped out. 

Mrs. Morton looked aghast. “It will take an 
hour to get that out!” 

“Confound those kids! Mother, you can just 
make those smarties come rip that stitching out!” 

“My son, whom are you addressing?” 

“Well, Mother, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, 
but this is a little more than I can stand! Wait till 
I get my hands on Jane!” 

“You would do well to remember, Ernest, that 
you started this practical joking yourself. I hope it 
will be a lesson to you to refrain from such pranks 
in future.” 

“We didn’t do anything but carry the bread over 
to the Captain without telling them. That’s where 
they wanted it to go.” 


174 Chicken Little Jane 

Mrs. Morton gasped. “Did you take the whole 
baking?” 

“Sure, wasn’t that what you wanted?” 

Mrs. Morton considered a moment Before reply- 
ing. 

“Well, Ernest, you boys have brought this annoy- 
ance upon yourselves — I think you will have to ac- 
cept the consequences. I am too tired to fuss with 
the stitching to-night. If you go to Jenkinses you 
will have to wear your every day suits.” 

“But Mother!” 

Mrs. Morton was already descending the stairs; 
she did not respond. 

Ernest turned in despair to Sherm, who was ex- 
amining the neat stitching ruefully. 

Sherm grinned; “Guess we might as well take our 
medicine. Score one for the kids !” 

“I think they might take a joke the way it was in- 
tended.” 

“They seem to have taken the joke and a few 
other things besides.” 

Sherm chuckled. Ernest laughed, too, a little 
sulkily. 

“We’re elected to stay at home all right, but I’ll 
get ahead of them if it takes a month !” 

By the time the boys had rearrayed themselves 
and come downstairs, the occupants of the grape 
arbor had vanished. They didn’t return until the 


Bread and Polliwogs 175 

enemy had departed for a ride to soothe its ruffled 
feelings. 

The girls retired to bed early, as innocent young 
people should. 

“Did you have a good time -at Mamie’s last 
night?” asked Chicken Little at breakfast the next 
morning. 

“Mamie’s? We didn’t go to Mamie’s.” 

“No? I thought you intended to.” This from 
Katy. 

“You girls do get the queerest notions in your 
heads,” observed Ernest loftily. 

Gertie giggled. The boys looked at Gertie; they 
hadn’t suspected Gertie. Katy also giggled, likewise 
Chicken Little. There is something exceedingly con- 
tagious about giggling. 

Ernest became even loftier. 

“You girls seem to spend about half your time 
cackling — I hope you know what you are cackling 
about.” 

“We do,” retorted Chicken Little, still sweetly. 

Ernest and Sherm exchanged glances. After 
breakfast Ernest asked his mother if she had told 
the girls what happened the night before. 

a Not a word. They didn’t ask me.” 

“Humph !” The boy was puzzled. 

At noon they took another tack. 

“I forgot to tell you that Mamie sent her regards 


176 Chicken Little Jane 

to you and Katy,” Ernest remarked casually. 

“She said she was sorry you didn’t come, too,” 
added Sherm. 

Jane lifted her eyebrows at Katy. Katy shook 
her head. 

“By the way, Sis, I forgot to tell you that Captain 
Clarke invited us all to come over to supper to-mor- 
row night. He said to tell you he appreciated that 
bread very much. And while I think of it, if you 
can spare a little of your valuable time, I’d thank 
you to rip that stitching out of our clothes. I want 
to wear mine to the Captain’s.” 

“All right, we’ll rip out the stitching if you’ll bake 
us a batch of bread as good as the one you took.” 

“Not much, Mary Ann! We took the bread to 
the Captain, all right.” 

“Yes, but we only intended to send one loaf — and, 
besides, you made us a lot of trouble.” 

“Mother, haven’t the girls got to take out that 
stitching?” 

“I think Jane’s proposition is a fair one, Ernest,” 
observed Dr. Morton dryly. 

The boys retired to their room early that night 
where they worked most industriously with scissors 
and penknife and clothes brush. They had paid a 
hurried visit to Chicken Little’s room when they first 
came upstairs. This visit did much to sweeten their 
hour of labor. 


Bread and Polliwogs 177 

The girls were spending the evening at Frank’s. 
They were late in getting home. The night was hot 
and they hated to go to bed until it began to cool off. 
Dr. and Mrs. Morton were sitting on the front 
porch. 

“Go to bed, children. Father was just starting 
over to call you.” Mrs. Morton kissed them each 
goodnight. 

Dr. and Mrs. Morton followed them in and had 
barely settled themselves for the night, when an un- 
earthly shriek rent the air, followed by another and 
yet another. 

“What in thunder are those children up to now?” 
Dr. Morton spoke in the tone of one who consid- 
ered that patience” had ceased to be a virtue. 

“O Mother, come quick — there’s snakes or frogs 
or something in our bed and we haven’t any light !” 

Mrs. Morton hurriedly lit a lamp and went to the 
rescue, followed by the doctor armed with a stick. 

Holding the lamp aloft they went into the room, 
the three girls, who had retired in a panic to the 
head of the stairs, bringing up the rear. Katy had 
scrambled into bed and out again in haste, dragging 
the coverlet and sheet half off on the floor. The 
interior of the bed was fully exposed to view. It 
was already occupied — not by snakes, but by a hand- 
ful of fat, squirming, little polliwogs. 

“Ugh, I thought it was a snake — they were so 


Chicken Little Jane 


178 

slimy and cold!” Katy shivered at the recollection. 

Dr. Morton grimly gathered up the polliwogs, 
then, leaving his wife to restore order, went into the 
boys’ room and held a conversation behind closed 
doors. No report of what was said ever reached 
the girls, but the practical jokes ended then and 
there. 




SUPPERAT TFE CAPTAINS 


Their late unpleasantness had made the young peo- 
ple unusually polite to each other. Irritating 
subjects were carefully avoided the next day. When 
they set out for the Captain’s, Sherm gallantly 
handed Katy in to the front seat to sit beside Ernest, 
while he sandwiched himself between Jane and Ger- 
tie. The boys had finally concluded that the real 
joke was on them and were trying to make up. 

The Captain received them at the gate. 

“I can’t be grateful enough for that bread. I 
haven’t had such bread since I was a boy at home. 
I believe I am indebted to both Chicken Little and 
Gertie for the treat. Wing Fan is consumed with 
envy and asked me to-day if I would ask the hon- 
orable miss to tell him how she make the so wonder- 
ful bread.” 


179 


i8o Chicken Little Jane 

“I’d be delighted to,” replied Chicken Little, 
“only it took more than telling for Gertie and me. 
We tried ever so many times before we got it just 
right, but, of course, Wing understands more about 
cooking than we did.” 

“Well, judging by the bread, you seem to know a 
good deal about cooking.” 

Sherm could not resist. “Yes, and the girls are 
first rate at sewing, too!” 

This was too much for them all. They laughed 
until the Captain begged to be let in on the fun. 

Their host had an unexpected treat for them. 
“You are to help me christen my new row boat. It 
came four days ago, but I have been saving it until 
you could all go with me.” 

He led the way down the creek to a long, deep 
pool, where a blue and white skiff floated gaily at 
anchor. A piece of white cardboard was tacked 
over the name so they could not see it. 

“I covered it up to see if you could guess it. I’ll 
give one of those Siamese elephants to the one who 
gets it first.” 

A lively contest followed. The girls suggested all 
the poetical names they could think of from Sea 
Rover to Bounding Billow. The boys, after a few 
wild guesses, settled down to the names of places in 
the neighborhood, and women’s names. 

The Captain laughed at their wild hazards. 


Supper at the Captains 181 

It isn t the name of any ship or famous naval 
hero? Ernest asked this question for the second 
time. 

The Captain shook his head. “Some of your 
neighborhood guessers were the nearest. There’s 
one thing I’m sure of, Chicken Little won’t gness 
it.” 

This was hint enough for Sherm. “Chicken Lit- 
tle,” he sang out instantly. 

“Bright boy, the elephant is yours.” 

“Did you really?” Chicken Little eyed the long 
strip of cardboard that concealed the name, incredu- 
lously. 

The Captain took out his penknife and deftly 
ripped the covering off. There it was — the letters 
an inch tall in white paint: “Chicken Little.” 

‘I think we should have a proper christening 
ceremony while we are at it. Ernest, would you 
mind stepping up to the house and asking Wing for 
a bottle of ginger ale?” 

When Ernest returned with the bottle of amber- 
colored liquid, Captain Clarke turned to Gertie. 

“We must divide the honors, will you break the 
bottle over the bow while Sherm pushes off? Cham- 
pagne is customary, but this is better for a prohibi- 
tion state, and for young folks in any state.” 

Gertie took the bottle and waited for directions. 
TEe others looked on curiously. Sherm untied the 


182 Chicken Little Jane 

boat, and, holding the cord in his hand, also 
waited. 

“Perhaps we’d better consider Ernest the crew; 
that cord is hardly long enough to permit the 
Chicken Little to float off in style, and we don’t want 
to have to swim, to bring her back. Jump in, Er- 
nest; you know how to handle an oar in fresh water, 
don’t you?” 

“I think I can manage it.” 

Captain Clarke explained to Gertie exactly how to 
strike the blow that should send the ginger ale foam- 
ing over the bow, and repeated the formal words of 
christening until she knew them by heart. Gertie 
was so interested she forgot to be shy, and per- 
formed her office with much spirit, repeating the “I 
christen thee, Chicken Little,” as solemnly as if she 
were standing beside a battleship instead of a blue- 
and-white row boat. It was a pretty ceremony, but 
it took so long that Wing Fan came to announce sup- 
per before they were all fairly packed away in the 
boat for their promised ride. The six were a snug 
fit. 

Supper was served on the uncovered veranda. A 
stream of late afternoon sunshine filtered through 
the trees, and, with the lengthening shadows, cast a 
sunflecked pattern of branch and foliage on the 
white linen tablecloth and shining glass and silver. 
Some of Chicken Little’s own clove pinks, mingled 


Supper at the Captain’s 183 

with feathery larkspur and ribbon grass, filled a sil- 
ver bowl in the center of the table. 

“How did you keep them fresh so long?” Chicken 
Little asked curiously. 

“Wing Fan performed some kind of an incanta- 
tion over them. You’ll have to ask him.” 

Wing was delighted to have Jane notice them. 
“Velly easy keep— put some away in box with ice all 
same butter.”. 

Captain Clarke had been the first person on the 
creek to put up ice for summer use and Wing was 
the proud possessor of a roomy ice box. 

“It seems like home to have ice again.” Katy 
was stirring the sugar in her tea for the sheer satis- 
faction of hearing the ice tinkle against the sides of 
the glass. A sudden thought disturbed her. 
“Though there couldn’t be anything nicer than your 
spring house for keeping things. I don’t believe our 
melons at home ever got so nice and cold all through 
as yours do down in the spring stream.” 

“That’s a wonderful spring you have over on 
the place.” Captain Clarke came to Katy’s rescue. 
“And that big oak above it is the finest tree in this 
part of the country. I’ll venture it has a history if 
we only knew it.” 

“Yes, Father is very proud of the old oak. He 
says it is at least two hundred years old. He 
wouldn’t take anything for it,” Ernest replied. 


184 Chicken Little Jane 

“Everybody calls Kansas a new country,” said 
Sherm, “but I guess it is pretty old in some ways. 
Kansas had a lot of history during the war.” 

“Yes, and lots of the people who helped make the 
history are living down at Garland now. The old 
Santa Fe trail runs clear across our ranch. You 
can tell it still — though it hasn’t been traveled for 
almost twenty years — by the ruts and washouts. 
And even where the ground wasn’t cut up by the 
countless wheels, it was packed so hard the blue 
stem has never grown there since. It is all covered 
with that fuzzy buffalo grass. In winter this turns 
a lighter brown than the prairie grass and you can 
see the trail for miles, distinctly.” Ernest loved his- 
tory and politics. 

“What was the Santa Fe trail? I have heard you 
speak of the trail so much and I never knew what 
you meant.” Katy asked eagerly. 

The Captain answered: “The old trans-conti- 
nental wagon road to the gold fields of California. 
You know there was a time when Kansas didn’t have 
anything so civilized as a railroad and people trav- 
eled by wagon and horseback — even on foot, all the 
way to the coast.” 

“Yes,” added Ernest, “and lots of them died on 
the way or got killed by Indians.” 

“Indians?” said Katy, “why, we haven’t seen a 
single Indian and Cousin May said she’d be afraid 


Supper at the Captain’s i8j 

to come out here because there were lots of them 
still about.” 

“Not in this part of Kansas — you needn’t lose any 
sleep. The Kaw reservation isn’t so very far away 
and parties sometimes come this way to revisit their 
old hunting grounds, but the Kaws were a peaceable 
tribe even in their free days.” 

“There are lots of Indian mounds and relics 
around here,” put in Chicken Little. “Father got 
those arrow heads, and that stone to pound corn, and 
his tomahawk heads out of a mound over on Little 
John.” 

“Yes, and there’s a tree on the main street in town 
that used to be a famous meeting place for the In- 
dians. Oh, we must take you all to see the old 
Indian Mission. It was used as a fort, too, more 
than once, they say. The walls are fully two feet 
thick.” 

“Whew, I didn’t know you had so many interest- 
ing things round here !” exclaimed Sherm. 

“We are so used to them we hardly think of them 
as being interesting. Have I ever told you about 
the hermit’s cave?” 

“Hermit’s cave? No, where is it?” 

“On the side of that big bluff just west of town. 
Oh, that’s some story. The hermit lived there until 
about ten years ago. Some said he was a Jesuit 
priest who lived a hermit’s life to become more holy, 


1 86 Chicken Little Jane 

and others that he was an Italian Noble who had 
fled from Italy to escape punishment for a crime. 
Nobody ever really knew much about him except 
that he was highly educated and read books in sev- 
eral different languages. But the cave is still there, 
in the ledge of rocks near the top of the bluff.’* 

“Oh, I’d love to see it.” Gertie liked romantic 
things. 

“So would I,” Katy added. 

“Me too,” echoed Sherm. 

“Count me in,” said the Captain, “or rather let 
me take you all to town some day to explore these 
marvels.” 

“They really aren’t much to see — they’re more in- 
teresting to tell about. But I’d be glad to see them 
all again myself,” Ernest replied. 

Wing Fan had prepared so many good things for 
them that none of the party felt energetic enough for 
rowing immediately after supper. They were glad 
to linger over the peach ice cream which was Wing’s 
crowning triumph, and nibble at the Chinese sweet- 
meats about which they were rather doubtful. 

“I don’t believe I ever tasted such good ice 
cream,” exclaimed Katy. 

I think Wing Fan must say magical words over 
everything he cooks — his things are so different and 
taste so good. I never thought I liked rice before, 
but his was delicious.” 



And he brandished it fiercely. ~ 















































































































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Supper at the Captain’s 187 

“Wing Fan knows all about the family history of 
rice. He talks to each grain separately,” laughed 
the Captain. 

The boys didn’t praise Wing’s efforts in words, 
but their appetites kept Wing on the broad grin. 
He could not resist looking proudly at his employer 
when Sherm accepted his third saucer of cream. 

The Captain invited them into the library to pick 
out Sherm’s elephant. They were all so interested 
in the curios and asked so many questions they came 
near forgetting the boat ride. Ernest picked out a 
ship’s cutlass the first thing. The Captain took it 
down for him to examine and he brandished it 
fiercely. 

Captain Clarke smiled. “I fear you wouldn’t do 
much execution if you handled it that way, Ernest. 
A cutlass has tricks of its own. Here, this is the 
way.” He showed the boy how to get the proper 
hold and how to swing it. 

Ernest struck an attitude. “Behold your sailor 
brother as he skims the briny deep, Chicken Little.” 

“Pooh, naval officers don’t carry cutlasses, do 
they, Captain Clarke?” 

“No, I believe the sword used now is straight. 
But this cutlass has a history I think might interest 
you.” 

“Tell us.” 

“If you like. It won’t take long. Boys, will you 


Chicken Little Jane 


188 

draw up chairs for the girls?” Captain Clarke 
reached out his hand for a big easy chair nearby at 
the same moment that Sherm laid his hand upon it 
to draw it nearer for their host himself. The two 
hands rested in almost the same position on the 
opposite arms of the chair. They were singularly 
alike. Katy, the observing, noticed this instantly. 

Captain Clarke studied Sherm’s hand for a min- 
ute, then his gaze shifted to his own. 

“I doubt if my hand was ever as good looking as 
Sherm’s,” he said easily. “You have a hand that 
denotes unusual strength and will power, according 
to ‘palmology.’ You will have to live up to it.” 

But Katy was persistent. “It’s almost exactly like 
yours, Captain Clarke, only yours isn’t so smooth 
and has more lines. Don’t you see it’s a square hand 
with unusually long fingers. The thumbs are shaped 
just the same, too.” 

“You should be an artist, Katy, you are such a 
close observer,” replied the Captain. 

They settled down comfortably for the story. 
Chicken Little noticed Sherm regarding his own hand 
rather critically and glancing from it to the Cap- 
tain’s, who used frequent gestures as he warmed 
with his talk. 

Gertie could not take her eyes from the cruel 
steel blade of the cutlass. “I wish there were no 
awful things to kill people with. I don’t believe 


Supper at the Captain’s 189 

God meant people to kill each other in battle any 
more than to kill each other when they get mad.” 

Captain Clarke smiled at her disturbed look. 

That is one of the most terrible questions human 
beings have ever had to answer, little girl. I thought 
as you do once, Gertie, before the Civil War broke 
out. I loathed the histories and pictures of fight- 
ing. My schoolmates used to dub me a sissy because 
I hated the sight of blood. But when President 
Lincoln called for volunteers to save our country, 
when I realized that it was a choice between having 
one great free country with liberty in it for both 
blacks and whites, or letting our own race and kin 
leave us in hatred to continue the wickedness of 
human slavery right at our doors, it didn’t take me 
long to decide. War and all unnecessary suffering 
inflicted by human beings upon each other, are hid- 
eous. But have you ever thought how much more 
of such suffering there would be if parents didn’t 
inflict suffering upon their children to make them 
control their ugly passions? If our courts didn’t 
punish people for being cruel to other people? And 
when it isn’t a child or one or two grown men or 
women who try to be cruel or unjust, but a whole 
nation, what then? Surely other nations should 
come to the rescue of the right, even if it means war. 
You wouldn’t let a big dog kill a little one without 
trying to save it, would you, Gertie?” 


Chicken Little Jane 


190 

Gertie mutely shook her head. 

“Neither should Christian nations allow weaker 
peoples nor any part of their own people to be un- 
justly treated, when it is in their power to prevent 
it. ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ will some day be 
a question every nation must answer as well as every 
individual.” 

“But most of the world’s wars have been to take 
other nations’ rights away from them, not to protect 
them,” objected Ernest. 

“Yes, on one side, but in every war there has al- 
ways been the side that fought to protect its loved 
ones and its homes from the brutality of conquerors. 
There is hideous wrong in every war, but the wrong 
is in the hearts of those who would rob and oppress 
those weaker than themselves, not in the patriots and 
heroes who resist. But I didn’t mean to deliver a 
lecture. I’d rather tell you about the brave boy 
who wielded this cutlass.” 

Chicken Little drew her chair closer. 

“It was in ’65 — soon after I was mustered out of 
service at the close of the war, I was offered the 
command of a freighter going round The Horn to 
the Orient. I hated to leave my wife and little boy 
for a year’s voyage, especially after being away so 
long during the war, but it was the only opening 
worth while I could find. I guess I had the get-rich- 
quick idea, too, but never mind, that has nothing to 


Supper at the Captain’s 191 

do with the story. We had a terrible voyage. 
Storms and bad luck of every kind. The rigging 
was shrouded with ice for weeks — two men were 
frozen to death on watch. I don’t know that I 
blame the men as I look back. I had been so hard- 
ened myself by the terrible discipline and sights of 
war, I guess I didn’t take much trouble to make my 
crew see the necessity of some of our hardships. At 
any rate, they mutinied and would have killed me 
while I slept, but for my cabin boy. He was only 
sixteen, but he discovered the conspiracy and roused 
me. With the help of the other officers and a few 
loyal sailors we stood them off. Hot work it was.” 
The Captain stopped an instant, musing. 

The young people waited, expectant. Captain 
Clarke held up the cutlass reverently. “Charlie used 
this to good purpose after he had fired his last round 
of ammunition. I was wounded — had propped my- 
self against the rail and was aiming my last precious 
bits of lead at the ring-leader, when some one jabbed 
a bayonet at me from the side. Charlie knocked it 
up, cutting the dastard down with a second blow 
that was a marvel. Those two strokes saved my 
life and saved the ship. Do you wonder this ugly 
thing looks beautiful to me?” 

“And the boy?” Katy asked softly. 

“Commands a vessel of his own in the Pacific 
trade. I had a letter and a Satsuma jar from him a 


Chicken Little Jane 


192 

few weeks ago. But we are neglecting the Chicken 
Little! That will never do.” 

A crescent moon was visible in the sky as they 
came back to the place where the boat was moored. 

“I fear I detained you longer than I intended with 
my yarn,” said the Captain. “It will soon be dark 
and that moon is too young to be very useful.” 

“Oh, it will give a good deal of light for two or 
three hours. I know every inch of the road, and 
even if I didn’t, the horses do,” Ernest replied. 

“Will you boys take the oars together or one at 
a time? Chicken Little, you girls may take turns 
in the bow and the rest of us will make a nice tight 
fit here in the stern.” 

The boys preferred to try their luck singly. Er- 
nest picked up the oars awkwardly. He had had 
little experience in rowing and he felt self-conscious 
under the Captain’s eye. His first stroke sent a 
shower of drops flying over them. 

“Here,” called Sherm, “that isn’t a hose you’re 
handling!” 

“Anyhow, the drops feel lovely and cool.” Katy 
was inclined to defend Ernest. 

“A longer, slower stroke will do the work better 
and not blister your hands so quickly,” admonished 
Captain Clarke. “Our future admiral must learn 
to row a boat skillfully. You boys are welcome to 
use it whenever you see fit.” 


Supper at the Captain’s 193 

Ernest set his lips together firmly and soon had 
the boat skimming along rapidly, though still rather 
jerkily, his strokes being more energetic than regu- 
lar. The woods were already echoing with soft 
night noises, frogs croaked; the clicking notes of the 
katydids mingled with the whining of the wind 
through the boughs overhead. Part of the pool dis- 
appeared in the shadows; the rest broke into shim- 
mering ripples with every stroke of the oars. 

“Oh, I love the night time!” exclaimed Chicken 
Little. “Seems as if everything in the world had 
done its day’s work and was sitting down to talk it 
over — even the frogs. Don’t you s’pose they’re glad 
or sorry about things when night comes, just as we 
are?” 

Sherm looked at Chicken Little, who was lean- 
ing over the side of the boat, trailing her hand in 
the water. 

“Chicken Little, you work your imagination over- 
time — it will wear out if you aren’t careful.” 

She rewarded him with a grimace. 

“You are getting a much evener stroke, Ernest,” 
observed the Captain. 

“I bet he’s getting a blister on his hand, too,” said 
Katy. 

“Yes, Ernest, you’d better let me have a turn.” 
Sherm slid over to the rower’s seat and reached his 
hand for the oars, which Ernest yielded reluctantly. 


194 Chicken Little Jane 

Sherm had spent one summer near Lake Michi- 
gan and was a better oarsman than Ernest. The 
boat skimmed along smoothly. “Good for you, 
Sherm, you have a strong, even stroke,” the Cap- 
tain praised. 

Presently the girls began to sing, Ernest and 
Sherm joining in. Captain Clarke listened happily 
to the young voices until they struck up “Soft and 
Low over the Western Sea.” They all loved it and 
were crooning it sweetly, but the Captain’s face went 
white as they sang: “Father will come to his babe 
in the nest.” “Don’t!” he exclaimed involuntarily. 

They all looked at him in surprise. He regained 
his self-possession instantly, saying with a smile : 
“Go on — don’t mind my twinge of rheumatism — I 
slept in a draught last night. That is one of the 
loveliest things Tennyson has ever written.” 

The young people finished the song and began 
another, but they wondered. The spell of the even- 
ing was broken. Soon after, they started home. 



CtfAPtlf&fe 

CALICO AM) COMPANY 


Mrs. Morton passed the muffins for the fifth time 
to Ernest. Ernest’s appetite for muffins was pro- 
digious. Sherm was also ready for another. 
Chicken Little hadn’t quite finished hers, but at the 
rate they were disappearing — she thought she’d bet- 
ter. Katy said: “Yes, thank you,” and Gertie, who 
ate more slowly than the others, had only had one. 
Dr. Morton was merely waiting to be urged. Mrs. 
Morton rang the bell doubtfully. Annie had filled 
the plate three times already. Annie appeared with 
a questioning grin. 

“Shall I bring some bread, Ma’am? They ain’t 
no more muffins.” 

Dr. Morton laughed. “Our appetites do credit 
to your cooking, Annie.” 


195 


196 Chicken Little Jane 

Mrs. Morton sighed, then smiled as she surveyed 
the rosy, tanned faces. 

“There is certainly nothing like country air to 
make people eat. I wonder when Alice and Dick 
will be getting back. Dick said the first week in 
August probably. ” 

“Oh, dear/’ said Chicken Little, “I want to see 
Alice and Dick again, but I don’t want Katy and 
Gertie and Sherm to go home. They can only stay 
a’few days this time, Alice said so.” 

“I don’t want to go home a bit,” replied Katy. 

“There’s nothing to do at home till school 
begins.” 

“I’d like to go home and see Mother, and then 
come back.” Gertie looked a little wistful. She 
did want Mother within reach. 

“I wish we could keep you all till September.” 
Dr. Morton liked to have the clatter of the young 
people about. “If we only knew some one going 
back to Illinois at that time to look after you. I 
don’t suppose Mrs. Halford would like to have you 
girls travel so far without some grown person along. 
But I don’t see why Sherm can’t just as well stay till 
time to get ready for college.” 

“I’d like nothing better, and I’m not dead sure 
I’m going to college this fall. Father seemed a 
little doubtful when I left, and the folks haven’t said 
anything about it in their letters. If I can’t, I guess 


Calico and Company 197 

1 11 try for a clerkship in the post-office when I go 
back.” 

Dr. Morton studied a moment. u How would you 
like to work here on the ranch if you don’t go to 
college, Sherm?” 

“Do you mean it, Dr. Morton?” 

“I surely do. Of course, Ernest’s going is not 
quite settled yet, but I have practically made up my 
mind that he must go off to school somewhere. We 
shall need some one to take his place and it would 
be very pleasant to have you. Chicken Little here 
wouldn’t be quite so homesick for Ernest, perhaps, 
if you would let her adopt you in his place.” 

Jane jumped up and down in an ecstasy. 

“Oh, Sherm, please do — I thought I’d just die 
with lonesomeness this winter with all of you gone, 
and Ernest, too.” 

Sherm looked pleased at her eagerness. His news 
from home was still depressing and Sherm, if not 
homesick, had his lonely hours. 

I would pay you regular wages — whatever is 
customary for boys of your age. I should have to 
make some inquiries,” continued Dr. Morton. 

“Yes, and we could go to the lyceums — they most 
always have one every winter over at the Fair View 
School House. It’s heaps of fun when there’s snow 
on the ground. Frank puts the big wagon bed on 
runners and we fill the bottom with straw and buf- 


Chicken Little Jane 


198 

falo robes and all snuggle down together. You just 
must stay, Sherm !” 

“Perhaps he will, if you don’t talk him to death, 
Chicken Little. You haven’t given him a chance to 
get in a word edgeways.” Ernest reproved his sis- 
ter sharply after the manner of brothers slightly 
older. 

“What about you?” retorted Chicken Little. 
“Sherm, we’ll all keep quiet and let you have a 
chance.” 

“I’d like to, if college is ruled out, and Mother 
and Father will let me. They may want 
me at home, especially if Father grows worse.” 
Sherm gave a little gulp. He was very fond of his 
father. 

“I’ll write to him to-day, Sherm, and you might 
write, too, for I’m going in to town about noon. 
Any commissions, Mother? Why don’t you drop 
things and come along? A change will do you good 
— you haven’t been off the place for two weeks or 
more.” 

“I don’t know but I will. Chicken Little, you girls 
might get up a little picnic lunch for yourselves and 
the boys, and have it out in the orchard. Annie has 
a big ironing to-day and it would help her out not 
to have a dinner to get. Then we’ll have a hearty 
supper this evening.” 

“Yes, and Chicken Little, did you girls feed the 


Calico and Company 199 

porkers last evening? I heard them squealing and 
grunting in the night.” 

“Golly!” said Chicken Little, sitting up with a 
start and looking at Katy. Katy looked guilty, and 
Gertie concerned. 

Dr. Morton did not need any further answer. 
“Well, you’d better run right out. Remember dumb 
beasts must never be neglected, daughter.” 

“And Jane, I don’t want to hear you say Golly 
again. By-words of any kind are objectionable for 
young girls, and that is particularly rough and 
coarse,” Mrs. Morton added severely. 

“You never say it is coarse when Ernest says it — 
and he uses it an awful lot.” 

“My dear, you are not a boy,” Mrs. Morton re- 
plied with a dignity that was final. 

“I don’t care,” said Chicken Little when the trio 
got out doors, it’s not one bit fair to let boys do so 
many more things than girls! You just wait, if I 
ever have a daughter she’s going to do every single 
thing her brother does. So there!” 

Sherm overheard and later in the day when he 
and Jane were talking together, he remarked: 
“Chicken Little, I don’t think it is exactly fair either 
to hold the girls in so much tighter than boys, but 
your mother is right, allee samee. I have heard the 
fellows talk often enough to know they think a lot 
more of a girl who isn’t slangy, than of one who is. 


200 


Chicken Little Jane 


Of course, mild ones like ‘Oh dear’ don’t matter, 
but you see a man kind of likes to have a girl, well 
— different.” Sherm was getting in a little beyond 
his depth. 

The girls carried two pails of sour milk and a 
great basket of parings to their greedy pigs and 
watched them feed without interest. 

“The only reason I’m glad to go home is I won’t 
have to feed these horrid pigs any more. I never 
saw anything grow and eat like they do. They ought 
to be worth a lot of money after all the stuff they’ve 
eaten.” Katy kicked her toe against the log pen to 
emphasize her remarks. 

“I don’t think they’re worth so very much yet.” 
Chicken Little was regarding them with no very 
friendly eye. 

“I wouldn’t mind so much if they weren’t getting 
so ugly and smelly,” said Gertie plaintively. 

Frank, happening by just then, was amused to see 
their disgusted expressions. 

“Say, Frank, how soon will these pigs be big 
enough to go in the corral with the others?” 

Frank’s eyes twinkled. He came up and scanned 
the ten muddy, impudent pigs, who were already 
coming up to the sides of the pen, grunting for more. 
“Well,” he said judicially, “I think perhaps you 
will be rid of them inside of two or three months, but 
they’ll eat a lot more from now on.” 


Calico and Company 201 

The three set up a united protest. 

“Father said it would only be a few weeks when 
we caught them, and it’s been five already,” Chicken 
Little remonstrated hotly. 

“Well, don’t go for me. You asked for my opin- 
ion and I gave it to you.” 

Frank grinned so broadly that Jane grew sus- 
picious. “Pooh, you’re teasing, I’ll ask Father to- 
night.” 

The girls scoured the pantry and spring house 
for provender for the picnic. Sherm and Ernest 
would be in from the meadow where they were cut- 
ting down thistles about half-past twelve. Bread 
and butter and cold ham were flanked with cookies, 
pie, and musk melons. Annie wanted them out of 
her road as speedily as possible, so they took their 
stuff all down to the orchard and stowed it away in 
the shade. 

“Now what?” demanded Katy. 

“I don’t know. Wish we could think of something 
new.” Chicken Little stared up and down the rows 
of apple trees, seeking an inspiration. 

Her glance fell upon a lone apple tree standing 
in the center of an open space, apart from all its 
fellows. Katy’s glance followed hers. 

“Why is that old tree all by itself that way?” 

“I don’t know — they were all big trees when we 
came here. It is a bell-flower and we call it Old 


202 


Chicken Little Jane 

King Bee. Say, I’ve got an idea. Let’s get Calico 
and Caliph and play riding school — you remember 
that article in ‘The Harper’s’ about a riding school 
in New York, and you said you wished you could 

go-” 

“Would Ernest let us take Caliph?” 

“I don’t know, but I know I could ride him if I 
tucked my skirts up and used the man’s saddle. 
There can’t a soul see us here; it’s so shut in by the 
trees.” 

“It would be fun. Let’s try to ride bare back and 
do stunts to surprise the boys. I wish we could take 
our skirts clear off — they catch so on the saddle horn 
and in the stirrup buckles.” 

“I tell you what we’ll do.” Chicken Little’s eyes 
danced impishly. “There are lots of Ernest’s old 
trousers in the lumber-room closet that he outgrew 
ever so long ago. I believe we could find some to 
fit all of us. Let’s go see.” 

A swift rummage of the dusty closet set them all 
sneezing, but they triumphantly brought forth an 
armful of defunct trousers and carried them up to 
their room. For the next fifteen minutes such gig- 
gles and exclamations and shrieks of laughter es- 
caped from their room that Annie left her ironing 
to see what was up. An astonishing sight met her 
gaze. Once started upon the dressing-up craze, the 
girls had not been content with one garment. 


Calico and Company 203 

Chicken Little had daringly ransacked not only Er- 
nest’s bureau, but Sherm’s possessions, in quest of 
shirts and ties. 

She had decked herself in a blue checked cheviot 
shirt, tucked into blue serge trousers, liberally 
patched at the knees. Sherm’s best red tie was 
neatly knotted at her throat, and an old straw hat 
adorned with a red hair ribbon, topped her brown 
braids. Katy was resplendent in a tan colored shirt, 
with a bright green tie popularly supposed to belong 
to Ernest. Her own black sailor finished her off 
nicely. Gertie had a faded pink shirt, which dated 
back to Centerville days — all Ernest’s more recent 
garments being too big for her slim little figure. 

Annie threw up her hands. “You’re a pretty-look- 
ing lot. I’d just like to have the Missus see you now. 
I bet you’d catch it.” 

But Annie had troubles of her own and retired to 
her ironing. 

The trio slipped out the back way — they didn’t 
care to have Marian see them, and they didn’t wish 
to bother with Jilly. The stable was deserted. 
They quickly saddled Caliph after making friends — 
with sundry lumps of sugar. Calico was equipped 
only with a saddle blanket and girth. Gertie de- 
cided that she would let the others experiment first, 
so she walked back to the orchard. 

“Let’s try them down the lane first. They will be 


204 Chicken Little Jane 

easier to manage on a straight road than in among 
the trees, if they are fractious.” 

Jane helped Katy upon Calico’s back and showed 
her how to press her knees against the sides to se- 
cure her seat in the place of stirrups. 

“You can put your hand under the girth if you 
begin to slip.” 

Katy took a turn or two and decided she could 
stick on if Calico didn’t trot. He was a single footer 
and had a very easy gait except on the rare occa- 
sions when he insisted upon breaking into a hard 
trot. Chicken Little led Caliph to the fence. She 
wanted to be sure that she was well in her seat be- 
fore Caliph discovered she was a girl. 

But Caliph liked Chicken Little, and not having 
any skirts to make him suspicious, seemed inclined 
to take her for what she seemed. He noticed only 
that he had a lighter hand on the reins. He dashed 
off as lightly and smoothly as if Ernest or Sherm 
were on his back, and Chicken Little was in a trans- 
port of pleasure and triumph to think she could ride 
him. Katy had a harder time, but she stuck on 
pluckily for three turns up and down the lane. 

They didn’t dare linger too long lest some neigh- 
bor come by and see them. So they presently turned 
off upon the faint track that led through the gate 
into the orchard. Gertie was awaiting them under 
the big tree. Katy slipped off Calico to give Gertie 


Calico and Company 205 

her turn. Chicken Little led the way on Caliph and 
they went round and round the tree, faster and 
faster, till both were ready for a rest. The ponies 
were fresh and seemed to enjoy the sport as much 
as they did. 

Katy tried Calico next, enchanted to find she could 
stick on at a canter. By this time they were ready 
for something new. 

“Do you suppose we could ride backwards?” 
Katy was in a daring mood. 

They could and they did, though Calico was a 
little doubtful as to whether he approved of this 
innovation. It was not exactly comfortable for any- 
one concerned and they soon gave it up. But when 
Chicken Little tried to make the intelligent pony 
dance on his hind legs, Calico waxed indignant. In- 
stead of rising gracefully, he gave two short, plung- 
ing leaps, descending with forelegs rigid and head 
down, a maneuver which sent his mistress flying over 
his head. 

The turf was soft and she was up in a trice, grip- 
ping Calico’s rein before he could make use of his 
freedom. The crowning feat of the morning was 
another of Chicken Little’s brilliant ideas. They 
had tethered the ponies by their bridle reins and 
were letting them graze on the orchard grass while 
they stretched out and rested. Suddenly Jane sat 
up with a start and began to take off her shoes. 


206 Chicken Little Jane 

“What on earth are you going to do now, Jane 
Morton?” demanded Katy sharply. 

“Wait and see. I’m most sure I can. I want you 
to lead Calico very slowly.” 

Katy obediently followed directions. Chicken 
Little put her hand on the girth and vaulted on his 
back. She rode once around the tree tamely, then 
slowly got to her feet on Calico’s slim back, bidding 
Katy steady her. She succeeded in going about three 
feet with this precarious footing before she lost her 
balance and slid harmlessly down on the pony’s back. 
Calico did not look specially pleased at the jounce 
she gave him as she lit. She persevered until she 
could go round the tree, then insisted upon trying it 
alone. Katy and Gertie both remonstrated. 

“You’ll get killed! Calico doesn’t like it a bit.” 

“I won’t — I tried once all by myself last summer 
on old Kit, but Calico’s harder, because he isn’t so 
fat. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, Calico?” 
She put her arm around his neck and squeezed him 
hard. 

Calico whinnied and began to nose her for sugar. 
She produced two lumps, and stroked him, talking to 
him in whispers while Katy hooted. 

“A lot of good that will do.” 

Chicken Little got up again with Katy’s help, then 
started off slowly by herself. Calico moved care- 
fully at a snail’s pace. She made the entire circuit 


Calico and Company 207 

of the tree successfully this time. Again she went 
around, increasing the speed of Calico’s walk. She 
was so jubilant she grew reckless and clucked, which 
was Calico’s signal to canter. He responded 
promptly and with equal promptness, she slid down 
on him kerplunck. Calico laid back his ears in dis- 
approval, and looked around inquiringly. 

By this time Katy had plucked up her courage and 
wished to try it. She was entirely willing, however, 
to have Chicken Little at the pony’s head. Katy 
slipped, too, but she was lighter, and Calico was 
growing used to it and did not mind so much. 
ChicLen Little patted him each time and he soon 
ceased to notice the bumps. Gertie preferred to be 
a spectator at this stunt, but the others persisted until 
Jane succeeded in going round the tree once with 
Calico pacing. 

“Golly, I wish Ernest and Sherm could see 
us!” Chicken Little was already sighing for new 
worlds to conquer. 

“You said Golly again.” 

“Golly, I did, didn’t I? It’s awfully hard to quit 
anything like that. Say, I want you girls to pinch 
me every time I say it, then I’ll remember.” 

“You’ll get mad if we do,” replied Gertie, wise 
beyond her years. 

“No, I won’t! Honest to goodness I won’t. I 
truly want to stop it.” 


208 Chicken Little Jane 

“All right,” said Katy firmly, “but you will get 
more pinches than you are expecting.” 

Katy and Gertie and poor Calico were all ready 
to settle down for a rest. But Chicken Little was 
burning to show off before Ernest and Sherm. She 
untied Caliph and took several turns around the 
tree, going faster and faster. 

“Pooh,” she said after a while, “I bet I could ride 
Caliph anywhere. Suppose we go meet the boys. 
You and Gertie can both ride Calico bare back. I 
guess they’ll be surprised. It’s most noon; I can 
tell by the sun.” 

“But Jane, we can’t go to meet the boys this 
way.” Gertie looked distressed. 

“Oh, I forgot. What can we do? I’d be afraid 
to ride Caliph with even a short skirt — he’s never 
had a woman on him before.” 

“What if the boys do see us? Nobody else is 
likely to come along just at noon. Anyway, your 
father thinks it’s dangerous for girls to wear long 
skirts to ride in. I heard him say so.” Katy was 
plausible and Chicken Little wanted to be 
persuaded. 

“I don’t care, if you don’t.” 

“All right, let’s do it. I think you look real nice 
that way, Chicken Little, honest I do.” 

“Well, they’re heaps more comfortable. I feel 
so light. You make an awfully cute boy, Katy, and 


Calico and Company 209 

Gertie is just sweet. And you couldn’t ride bare 
back half so well sidewise.” 

It took some persuasion to secure Gertie’s consent, 
but she finally gave in. 

They rode gaily out into the lane. Calico was too 
tired to make any protest to his double burden. Once 
in the lane, they waited in the shade. But the boys 
did not come. They waited until Jane was sure it 
must be one o’clock and their appetites suggested 
two at the very earliest. Calico waited patiently 
enough, but Caliph was uneasy over the flies. Fi- 
nally, they decided to give the boys up and go back 
and have their picnic alone. 

“We might take one gallop down the line to the 
creek to make sure they’re not in the meadow,” Katy 
suggested. 

“I bet they finished the weeds sooner than they 
expected and went fishing.” Chicken Little strained 
her eyes in the direction of the meadow. 

They started the horses off at a smart pace, then 
faster and faster, till they broke into a swift gallop. 

“Isn’t it glorious?” Chicken Little called back. 
She was several lengths ahead. 

She did not hear Katy’s response. A jack rabbit, 
frightened by the approaching horses, broke cover 
from some wild blackberry bushes that grew over 
the stone wall, and dashed across the road directly 
in front of Caliph. The spirited beast shied vio- 


210 Chicken Little Jane 

lently, then leaped forward, throwing Chicken Little 
neatly off into the exact middle of the dusty lane. 
Her pride was more hurt than she was. She tried to 
stop him by calling “Whoa” lustily. But Caliph 
seemed to have a pressing engagement else- 
where. He quickly disappeared around a bend in 
the lane. 

The girls looked at each other in dismay. 

Chicken Little got hastily to her feet. There was 
no time to nurse bruises. She must catch Caliph 
somehow. 

“Golly, he’s got that beautiful Mexican saddle on 
and he may take a notion to roll. I knew I hadn’t 
any business to take it, but I wanted to ride him just 
as Ernest does.” 

Katy and Gertie noticed the “Golly,” but there 
seemed to be more important business on hand. 

“Do you suppose you could take Calico and catch 
him?” asked Katy anxiously. 

“I don’t know, but I guess I’ll have to try.” 

Katy and Gertie climbed down and Chicken Little 
swung herself up. 

“Maybe one of you’d better come, too, to hold 
Calico and ride him home if I catch Caliph.” 

“I’ll come, and Gertie had better run and change 
her clothes and go back to the orchard to give the 
boys their lunch, if they come before we get back. 
Don’t tell them where we’re gone.” 


Calico and. Company 211 

“Nor about Caliph, Gertie, you can say we’ll be 
back in a minute.” 

Katy had mounted behind Jane while she was 
giving this last direction and poor Calico started off 
at a gallop. They crossed the creek and came to the 
place where the road forked just beyond the timber 
without seeing hide or hair of Caliph. 

“He must have streaked it. I don’t think he’d 
take the road to town — he must have gone straight 
home to the Captain’s. Oh, dear, I’ll have to tell 
him I used Ernest’s horse without permission, and 
I’ve got these awful clothes on! It just seems as if 
the Captain has to know every single bad thing I 
ever do.” Chicken Little heaved a long sigh and 
clucked to Calico. 

They had almost reached the Captain’s gate when 
they saw Wing Fan approaching on horseback, lead- 
ing the truant Caliph. Chicken Little was immensely 
relieved to find, as they came near, that neither sad- 
dle nor bridle had suffered from the run away. 

Wing Fan was also greatly relieved to find that 
no one had been hurt. 

“Me velly ’fraid honorable brother have bad fall. 
Captain Clarke no home. I bring horse, find out.” 

Wing held Caliph while Jane mounted, and rode 
a little way with her to make sure he would not be 
fractious, but Caliph seemed to have had his fling 
and bowled along smoothly. 


212 


Chicken Little Jane 


In the meantime Ernest and Sherm had arrived 
and were plying Gertie with questions between 
mouthfuls. Gertie parried as long as she could, 
shutting her lips together tight when they began to 
press her too hard. 

“I’d just like to know what they are up to now. 
That precious sister of mine can get into more 
scrapes than any kid I ever saw.” 

“And Katy isn’t far behind her,” added Sherm, 
hoping Gertie would try to defend her absent sister 
and let something out. 

Chicken Little and Katy took the horses to the 
barn, carefully unsaddled Caliph, and rubbed both 
horses down and fed them, before going back to the 
orchard. They forgot all about their unusual 
dress. 

They arrived there, tired and flushed, in time to 
help the boys finish the last melon. 

“You mean things to eat the melons all up.” 
Chicken Little almost forgot her own offense in her 
disgust over their greediness. 

The boys did not waste time defending them- 
selves; their attention was concentrated on the girls’ 
peculiar costume. 

“Well, what in the demnition bow wows have you 
been doing now, Chicken Little Jane Morton?” Er- 
nest’s gaze wandered from his sister to Katy, who 
suddenly became self-conscious and tucked her feet 


Calico and Company 213 

and as much of her trouser-clad legs as she could 
manage, underneath her. 

Chicken Little gave a start of surprise, then faced 
Ernest boldly. 

“Oh, just having a little fun.” 

By this time Ernest was beginning to grasp de- 
tails. “Suppose next time you start out to have fun 
you let my things alone. Isn’t that Sherm’s best 
tie you’ve got on?” 

Chicken Little clutched the offending tie and 
glanced hastily at Sherm. The boy was regarding 
her with a peculiar expression, both admiring and 
disapproving. There was no denying that Chicken 
Little made a most attractive boy. 

The swift color swept into the girl’s face as she 
caught Sherm’s glance. “Oh, dear, and he had told 
her only that morning that girls should be different !” 
She liked Sherm — she didn’t want him to think she 
was a bold, awful girl. Some way their prank 
seemed to need excusing. She replied to the look in 
Sherm’s eyes rather than to her brother’s accusa- 
tion. 

^We — I wanted to ride Caliph — I just knew I 
could if I didn’t have a lot of horrid skirts to 
frighten him. And we did beautiful stunts and we 
couldn’t, if we hadn’t put on your old things. I bet 
if you had to wear cluttering things like skirts all the 
time you’d be glad to take them off some times, too.” 


214 Chicken Little Jane 

Chicken Little’s big brown eyes sought Sherm’s ap- 
pealingly. 

Ernest answered before Sherm could say any- 
thing. 

“Well, you can settle with Mother about the 
skirts, but I’ll thank you to let Caliph and my best 
ties alone.” 

“Did you ride him?” asked Sherm. “You’re wel- 
come to my tie, Chicken Little. It’s very becoming.” 

Chicken Little felt subtly consoled. “Yes, I rode 
him, but he threw me once,” she confessed. 

“He threw me once, too,” said the boy. “You’d 
better be a little careful.” 

Sherm grinned and Chicken Little smiled back 
happily. 



Jglffe, 


CWJE^XII^ 



tit****** 


DiCKAND 
ALICE GO, ON 
ALONE 


Dr. and Mrs. Morton got home about four 
o’clock. The girls had studied some time as to 
whether they should make a clean breast of the 
morning’s doings, but Ernest, urged on by Sherm, 
had discouraged them. 

“You needn’t be afraid I’ll peach, Sis. You’re 
an awful good rider for a girl and I don’t mind 
your taking Caliph so long as you didn’t get hurt. 
And I guess it was sensible of you not to try him 
with skirts. But you’d better be careful. You’re 
getting most too big for such tom boy business.” 

“It wasn’t anything really wrong,” argued Chicken 
Little. 

“I know my mother wouldn’t have cared way off 
out here in the country.” Katy added her mite to 
the whitewashing. 


215 


216 Chicken Little Jane 

“I don’t think it was wrong, but I guess your 
mother wouldn’t be pleased to hear about it>” ob- 
served Gertie sagely. 

“She isn’t going to,” said Chicken Little with de- 
cision. “I shall tell Father instead.” 

Father only laughed. Mrs. Morton did not learn 
of it until the girls had gone home to Centerville, 
when Chicken Little, wishing to convince her that 
she could ride Caliph safely, let it out, and received 
the long-delayed scolding. 

Two days after the riding school, a letter came 
from Dick and Alice, saying they would arrive Sun- 
day and must leave for Centerville the following 
Saturday. The same mail brought a letter for 
Sherm from his mother, and another from Mrs. 
Dart to Dr. Morton. The doctor did not mention 
the contents of his until the boy had finished read- 
ing his own. Then he stepped over to his side and 
laid his hand gently upon his head. Sherm was 
looking pretty sober. “Can you be content to be 
our boy this winter, Sherm?” 

“Thank you, you’re mighty good to want me. I 
— I guess there’s no college for me this winter. 
Father’s no better. I wish — excuse me.” Sherm 
finished abruptly and bolted out of the house. 

Chicken Little looked after him with some con- 
cern. She turned inquiringly to her father. 

“Poor lad,” he said in response to her look, “his 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 217 

father is no better — will be a helpless invalid to the 
end, I judge, more from what Mrs. Dart doesn’t 
say than from what she does. I’m afraid their af- 
fairs are in bad shape. Dart’s illness must have cost 
enormously and they have had no man to look after 
their business. She writes that Sue is to be married 
quietly next month. She says they are sadly dis- 
appointed not to have Sherm home for this event, 
but feel that he will be better off to stay with us this 
winter, and she can hardly afford to have him come 
so far just for a short visit. There is something 
sort of queer about the letter — something myste- 
rious, as if she were keeping the really important 
facts to herself. See what you make of it, Frank.” 

He handed the letter to Frank, who had just 
walked in with Jilly perched on his shoulder. 

Chicken Little did not wait for Frank’s verdict, 
she slipped out the door in search of Sherm. Her 
first guess was the stables and she made a hurried 
survey of stalls and hay mow. He was not there. 
She tried the orchard next, then the arbor. Perhaps 
he had taken one of the ponies and gone for a ride. 
No, she remembered both Calico and Caliph had 
whinnied as she went by their stalls. He might have 
walked down the lane. She went clear to the ford 
and hunted among the trees for a short distance up 
and down the bank. He was nowhere in sight. 
Coming back, she caught sight of the tops of the 


218 Chicken Little Jane 

Weeping Willows and, remembering that Sherm 
sometimes went there Sundays with a book, she stole 
up quietly. He had thrown himself down on the 
ground under the interlacing branches. No, he was 
not crying — just lying perfectly still, staring up into 
the boughs above him with such misery in his face, 
it hurt her to see him. 

She hardly knew what to do. She knew Ernest 
generally preferred to be let alone when things went 
wrong, but then Ernest had never come up against 
any real trouble. She suspected that Sherm’s was 
very real. Chicken Little watched him for several 
minutes, undecided. He did not stir. Finally, she 
decided she didn’t care whether Sherm wanted her 
round or not, she wasn’t going to go off and leave 
him to grieve all alone. 

“Sherm,” she called softly. The boy raised up 
on his elbow. “What do you want?” he asked rather 
gruffly. 

His manner didn’t suggest any longing for her 
society, but she persevered. “I won’t bother you 
but just a minute, Sherm, but I’m awful sorry — 
about your father — and college and everything.” 

Sherm did not answer or look at her. The tender 
note of sympathy in her voice was imperilling his 
self-control. He didn’t mean to play the baby, espe- 
cially before a girl. But the braver the boy was, 
the more Chicken Little burned to comfort him. She 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 219 

stood for a moment staring at him helplessly, the 
tears welling up into her own eyes. Then on a 
sudden impulse she dropped down beside him, and 
before he could protest, began to stroke his hair. 
Sherm tolerated the caressing fingers for a few min- 
utes, but his pride would not let him accept even 
this comforting. He dabbed his eyes fiercely. 

Don’t, Chicken Little, don’t! You’re a trump to 
stand by a fellow this way. I am all right — I just 
got to thinking about Father — and Sue’s going.” 

Sherm would have carried it off beautifully if he 
hadn’t attempted a smile, but his heart was too sore 
tc quite manage that. The smile vanished in a 
hasty gulp, and, burying his face on his arm, he had 
it out 

Chicken Little’s eyes were redder than Sherm’s 
when she got up to go back to the house. Sherm 
noticed her tear-stained appearance. “Wait a min- 
ute,” he ordered bruskly. He ran down to the 
spring stream just beyond the willows and soaking 
and rinsing out his handkerchief, brought it drip- 
ping to her. “Mop your eyes, Jane, they look awful. 
There — that’s better. I’ll be along pretty soon!” 

Mrs. Morton had not considered it necessary to 
inform Katy and Gertie that she had also written 
to their mother, asking if their visit might be pro- 
longed until the last of August. Mrs. Morton was 
firm in the opinion that every detail of children’s 


220 


Chicken Little Jane 


lives should be settled by their elders for their best 
good, and she expected the children to be properly 
thankful. Her expectations had not always been 
realized with her own children — all three having 
often very definite ideas of their own as to what they 
wanted and what they didn’t want. But in this in- 
stance she was not disappointed. The joy was gen- 
eral when Mrs. Halford wrote that the girls might 
remain, until the twenty-eighth, when a business 
friend of Mr. Halford’s would be coming through 
Kansas City, and would meet the girls there and 
bring them on home. To be sure, Gertie had a bad 
half hour thinking how much longer it would be 
before she could see Mother, but she soon forgot all 
this in the bustle of preparation for Alice and Dick. 

Marian and Frank had arranged several excur- 
sions for their last days at the ranch. They had seen 
fit to include the young folks in only one of these — 
a day in town when they were to go to the old Mis- 
sion and look up some interesting Indian Mounds 
in the neighborhood. Captain Clarke was to be 
of the party, and, true to his promise, insisted upon 
driving the boys and girls in himself. 

The afternoon Alice and Dick were expected, the 
girls were down the lane watching for the first 
glimpse of the bay team, to greet them. They had 
arrayed Jilly in white with a wreath of forget-me- 
nots on her blonde curls and a small market basket 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 221 

full of hollyhock blooms to scatter in the pathway 
of the expected guests. Frank was responsible for 
the hollyhocks. Flowers were becoming scarce, it 
had been so dry, and Chicken Little was bemoaning 
the fact that they could hardly find enough to trim 
up the house. 

“Hollyhocks, sure. There’s a whole hedge of 
them right at your hand. Nothing could be more 
appropriate for returning honeymooners. Further, 
they’re gaudy enough to compete with the two inches 
of dust in the lane. If we don’t have rain pretty 
doggoned soon we won’t have any crop.” 

Both Mrs. Morton and Marian looked up 
anxiously. 

“You don’t think ?” Marian hesitated. She 

did not wish to burden Katy and Gertie with family 
worries. 

“No, I don’t think, not being in the weather man’s 
confidence. But a rain inside of the next three days 
would mean hundreds of dollars to the Morton fam- 
ily and the whole Eastern half of Kansas as well.” 

Chicken Little’s mind flew instantly to Ernest’s 
cherished hopes. “Oh, can’t Ernest go to college if 
we don’t have rain?” 

“Don’t bother your head, Chicken, we’ll find some 
way to take care of Ernest. Go back to your deco- 
rations.” 

Ernest and Sherm had spent the preceding even- 


222 Chicken Little Jane 

ing erecting a remarkable arch over the front gate 
with “Welcome to Our City” done in charcoal let- 
ters a foot high on a strip of white paper cambric, 
depending from it, and an American flag proudly 
floating above. The girls completed this modest 
design by trimming up the gate posts with boughs. 

Mrs. Morton’s preparations were more practical. 
Three peach and three custard pies crowded a choco- 
late cake and a pan of ginger cookies on the lowest 
pantry shelf. The bread box lid would not shut, 
the box was so full, and a whole boiled ham was 
cooling down at the spring house, not to mention 
six dismembered spring chickens which had been 
offered up in place of the regulation calf. 

“I shouldn’t mind if they had cooked two of the 
pigs,” groaned Katy. They were giving their 
charges an extra big feed, being fearful lest they 
should forget them in the excitement of the guests’ 
arrival. 

“Neither would I,” Chicken Little replied with a 
sigh. “I’m sick of the sight of ’em!” 

Gertie threw a carrot and hit the one time beau- 
teous white one with the curly tail, so smart a rap on 
his snout that he squealed his disapproval while his 
relatives bagged the carrot. 

“I don’t care if I don’t get any money for my 
share of ’em,” said Katy after a pause of disgusted 
contemplation of the pigs. “I’d have to spend it 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 223 

for something useful like as not, or give some of it 
to the heathens. Let’s give them back to your 
father.” 

“I’d just as lief, only Frank and the boys would 
tease us everlastingly if we backed out now — and 
we’ve worked so hard!” 

“I don’t care. I’d just as lief quit.” Gertie’s dis- 
couraged expression was so funny that Chicken Little 
laughed and Gertie, the patient, flared. She hated 
to be funny. 

“Stop it — I am not going to help you feed those 
horrid pigs another time, Chicken Little Jane Mor- 
ton. I’ve just been doing it to help you out. And I 
don’t think it’s a suitable occupation for girls — or 
company!” Gertie climbed down from her perch 
on the log pen and departed with dignity. 

“Humph, I guess I never asked you to 
help me. Besides, you expected to get as much 
money as I did. You can just go off and sulk if you 
want to.” 

“Well, I don’t think that is a nice way to talk to 
your guests.” Katy climbed down and departed to 
soothe her sister. 

Chicken Little whacked her heels against the logs 
and made a face at the nearest pig to relieve her 
feelings. She loathed the creatures. She wished 
she could wipe them off the face of the earth. Katy 
was half way to the house when she had an inspira- 


224 Chicken Little Jane 

tion. “Katy!” she called eagerly, “Katy, I’ve got 
an idea.” 

Katy continued her way without glancing ’round. 

“It’s something you’ll like.” 

Katy wavered and unbent enough to ask: “What 
is it?” 

“Come here and I’ll tell you. I’m not going to 
yell it.” 

Katy considered and finally returned reluctantly. 

When she came back to the pen, Chicken Little 
glanced round to make sure that no one was about, 
to overhear, then, to make sure, whispered excitedly 
into Katy’s ear. 

Katy’s face lighted. “All right, let’s. Gertie 
won’t care.” 

They had entirely made up this slight unpleasant- 
ness by afternoon. Perched on rocks under the 
shade of the cherry trees they waited impatiently 
for Dick and Alice. Jilly had been coached in her 
little speech so often that there was no doubt at all 
that she would get it wrong. She had been told to 
say, “Welcome, Uncle Dick, welcome Auntie Alice.” 
She had said it faultlessly three times already when 
approaching wheels started them to their feet ex- 
pectantly. They were disappointed By seeing a 
neighbor drive round the bend in the lane. When 
the familiar bays did come into view with their 
swinging trot, Jilly was so enchanted she started off 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 225 

pell mell to meet them, spilling her blossoms out 
generously as she ran. The girls overtook her be- 
fore she quite got in the path of the horses and re- 
minded her of her responsibility. 

Dr. Morton pulled up and Dick leaped to the 
ground, punctuating her attempted “Weecome” by 
tossing her into the air and kissing her noisily. 

Jilly struggled free. Her coaching had not been 
in vain. 

“Oo muttant — I ain’t said it, and 00 pillin’ ve 
fowers.” 

Dick set the mite on her feet with exaggerated 
courtesy. “Of course — to be sure. I beg your 
most humble pardon, Miss.” 

Jilly drew in a long breath and began at the be- 
ginning again. She plunged a fat hand into the 
market basket and aimed two hollyhock tops in 
the general direction of Dick’s diaphragm, repeat- 
ing impressively: “Wee-come, Unky Dick.” She 
took no notice of his profound bow, but looking up 
at Alice, who was leaning out the side of the seat 
watching with amused eyes, she showered another 
handful upon the wheels and horses hoofs impar- 
tially. “Wee-come, An-tee Alish,” she said sol- 
emnly, then, with a rapturous look of triumph, 
turned to the girls for approval. 

She got it, with numerous hugs and kisses for in- 
terest. 


226 


Chicken Little Jane 


Dick surveyed the remainder of the reception com- 
mittee critically. 

‘‘Chicken Little, I hate to mention it, but is there 
anything left on the ranch to eat? I have been a 
little nervous all the time we have been away, re- 
membering the execution Katy and Gertie and Sherm 

were doing when we left and now ” He gazed 

sorrowfully at the girls’ plump cheeks. “I know 
they have gained ten pounds apiece. Be frank with 
me, Jane, is there anything left?” 

“If there isn’t, Dick, you might commandeer one 
of Chicken Little & Co.’s pigs. They are fat enough 
to sustain you for a few hours,” replied Dr. Morton, 
glancing at the girls. 

Katy and Jane also exchanged glances. 

Dick was quite overcome when he caught sight of 
the triumphal arch and the flag. 

“Support me, Chicken Little, this reception is so, 
ah, flattering it makes me faint with emotion. Young 
ladies, Dr. Morton,” he placed one hand over his 

heart and bowed low to each, “and esteemed ” 

he hesitated, not seeing anyone but Jilly to include 
in this last salutation, “esteemed fellows,” he bowed 
once more, including trees, bushes, and any other ob- 
jects handy, with a courtly sweep of the arm, “it is 
with deepest gratitude I ” 

“Heart-felt sounds better, Dick,” interrupted 
Alice, laughing. 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 227 

Dick gazed at her reproachfully. “ ’Tis always 
the way when I try to soar, my wife seizes my kite 
by the tail and pulls it down with a jerk. I thought 
lovely woman was supposed to inspire a man to 
higher ” 

Dick was interrupted in the middle of his com- 
plaining by Mrs. Morton’s coming out to greet them. 

The next few days fairly flew by. Each member 
of both families had thought of a variety of things 
that Alice and Dick must do before they went home. 
Unfortunately, there were only twenty-four hours 
in a day and it seemed necessary to spend part of 
these in sleep. 

“We ought to have at least one more hunting 
party,” declared Chicken Little. 

“We ought — I shall feel the lack of that hunt- 
ing party for years to come, Jane. There will be a 
vacuum in my inner consciousness. I shall wake up 
in the middle of the night sighing for that hunting 
party. But you see to-day is Wednesday, and we 
must leave Friday, and Frank and I have sworn by 
every fish in the creek to take to-morrow off for a 
fishing trip. Chicken Little, there is only one way 
out of the dilemma. Painful as it will be for you, 
you T ll have to invite us to come again.” 

The worst of it was that Frank firmly declined to 
take a single petticoat along. Neither Marian nor 
Alice could move him from this ungallant resolve. 


228 Chicken Little Jane 

“My dear wife,” Frank replied, “I love you, 
but I don’t love to have you round when I’m 
fishing.” 

“Never mind,” said Marian with decision, “if we 
can’t go we won’t get them any lunch. Will we, 
Mother Morton?” 

Mrs. Morton was rather horrified at such a breach 
of hospitality, Dick and Sherm being included in the 
boycott, but Marian and Alice both urged, and she 
finally promised neither to get up a lunch herself 
nor to permit Annie to. 

Marian and Alice looked triumphant. Frank mo- 
tioned to Dick and the two promptly disappeared. 
Marian quickly followed. 

“The villain! He’s gone over home to confiscate 
that batch of doughnuts I baked this morning. I 
hope he doesn’t find them.” 

Mrs. Morton took the hint and locked up her 
pies and cake. But the two boys and Dr. Morton 
had joined the foraging party and food disappeared 
most mysteriously at intervals during the remainder 
of the day. A custard pie already cut and served on 
plates on the kitchen table, reassembled itself in the 
pie tin and walked out of the kitchen door when 
Annie changed the plates in the dining room. One 
entire loaf of bread vanished f rom % the earth while 
Annie was trying to expel Ernest from the kitchen 
with a broom. 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 229 

The foragers were so capable that even Mrs. 
Morton ceased to worry about the men folks going 
hungry. 

But Marian’s blood was up. “We’ve just got to 
do something to get even. The best pool for fish 
on the whole creek is on Captain Clarke’s land and 
I know they are not going there. Let’s take the 
spring wagon and drive over and get the Captain to 
go fishing with us. He’ll take us to his own pool 
and with him to help, I’d be willing to wager we 
can beat these top-lofty fishermen at their own 
game.” 

Alice and the girls were instantly enthusiastic, but 
Mrs. Morton preferred to stay at home and keep 
cool. 

Marian and Chicken Little left the others to put 
up the lunch, while they went out to the stable to 
hitch up the bays. They were soon on their way, 
with a can of bait and a pocket full of fish hooks and 
stout cord to rig up impromptu fishing lines, the 
men having taken all the poles with them. 

The others had gone soon after daybreak. It 
was nearing ten when Marian drove up to the Cap- 
tain’s hitching post. 

“What if he isn’t at home?” said Chicken Little. 

“He’s got to be/’ laughed Marian. 

Wing Fan came out, grinning. He did not share 
his master’s reputed dislike for ladies. 


230 Chicken Little Jane 

He ushered them all into the big library and went 
oh to notify the Captain, who was down in the 
meadow superintending the hay cutting. 

“I am afraid we are an awful nuisance, but my 
prophetic soul tells me he will enjoy the joke and be 
pleased to have us come to him.” Marian was bol- 
stering up her courage. 

“Of course he will. You don’t suppose anybody 
could resist this crowd, do you?” Alice encouraged. 

Captain Clarke was both pleased and amused. 
They were so excited they all talked at once, and it 
took several minutes for him to get command of the 
situation. 

“They have the advantage in fishing early in the 
day, but I’ll impress Wing Fan and we’ll have more 
fish, if I have to get out a net and seine them. We’ll 
go down to the long hole now and see what we can 
do, and Wing will come as soon as he gives the men 
their dinner. If there is a fish in the creek you can 
depend on Wing to lure him. He just goes out and 
crooks his little finger and they begin to hunt for the 
hook,” he explained to Gertie. 

The Captain proved to be an expert fisherman 
himself. He showed them all his little stock of fish- 
erman’s tricks and they had a good catch by noon 
when Marian and Alice stopped to prepare the lunch. 
About two o’clock Wing Fan appeared, his face one 
broad, yellow smile. 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 231 

“Big missee and little missee have most/’ he as- 
sured them. 

Chicken Little and Katy and Gertie laid off and 
perched some distance up the bank behind Wing to 
watch his methods. He didn’t seem to do anything 
different, but the fish certainly came to his hook in 
a most astonishing manner. 

They fished until four, and the catch exceeded 
their wildest expectations. They wanted to leave 
some with the Captain, but he wouldn’t hear of it. 
“If the men have more than you, you can send me 
some of theirs. I should like to see if the flavor is 
better.” 

They expected their fishermen to drift in about 
five, and knew they would bring their fish to the house 
to display them before taking them down to the 
spring stream. Hurrying home, they put away the 
team and took their fish down to the spring house. 
Captain Clarke had saved a considerable part of 
their take alive for them, in a wooden cask, which 
Wing carefully loaded into the spring wagon. They 
got a piece of chicken wire and fastened it across the 
opening where the water flowed out underneath the 
spring house, and then, removing the milk and butter 
crocks from the rock-lined channel, turned all the 
living fish into the water. The others they spread 
out on the rock floor to make the best showing pos- 
sible. The spring house seemed alive with fish. 


232 Chicken Little Jane 

“They’ll never beat that!” Alice’s eyes were 
dancing. 

“I don’t see how they can.” Marian chuckled. 
“My lofty spouse will have to come down off his 
high horse this time.” 

“Don’t breathe a word, girls. I don’t want them 
to have the least inkling of what we have been up 
to, till they see this array.” 

The fishermen arrived, hot, dusty, and hungry. 
After all their efforts, their supplies had hardly kept 
pace with their appetites. They displayed their 
booty proudly. Frank had three trout and five cat- 
fish on his string. Dick, one trout, and three catfish. 
Dr. Morton and the boys had pooled theirs, and 
boasted twelve altogether. But most of the fish were 
small. The ladies obligingly went into ecstasies over 
their skill. Chicken Little and Katy admired and 
ohed and ahed until Marian was afraid they would 
rouse suspicion. 

“Do you want them all here at the house or shall 
we put part of them down at the spring?” Frank 
asked, with emphasis on the all. 

“Oh, since there are so many, perhaps you’d bet- 
ter put some away for breakfast,” Marian replied, 
after an instant’s consideration. 

Frank, Dick and the boys started for the spring. 
The three girls rose to accompany them. Alice and 
Marian looked languidly uninterested. 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 233 

The spring house was very dark and shadowy, 
coming in from the bright sunshine outside. Frank 
was in the lead. He stopped just in time to avoid 
stepping on a fish. He and Dick got their eyes 
focused to take in the display at almost the same 
instant. 

‘Well, I’ll be darned!” Frank looked at Dick 
in wild amaze. Dick stared, speechless, for fully 
twenty seconds. Then he broke into a roar. The 
boys, a few paces behind them, rushed in to see what 
the fun was. Ernest took one good look over 
Frank’s shoulder. “Jumping Jehosaphat!” he ejac- 
ulated, making room for Sherm. Sherm gazed his 
fill and glanced at Frank. 

Dick came to first and hazarded a guess. “The 
ladies God bless ’em — they’ve been to town and 
bought out a market.” 

“Nonsense, there isn’t a fish market in the burg — 
men sometimes peddle fish round at the houses, but 
they never get out here. They’ve been fishing on 
their own hook.” 

Dick turned on Chicken Little, who was 
watching them demurely. “If you don’t tell 
us how you worked this I’ll ” He ad- 

vanced threateningly. 

“Fished,” she replied laconically. And neither 
coaxing nor threats extracted any further informa- 
tion from the ladies that evening. 


234 Chicken Little Jane 

After supper Marian remarked carelessly: 
“Frank, there are more fish than we can use, don’t 
you think it would be nice to send some over to the 
Captain?” 

But it was Marian herself who finally let the cat 
out of the bag the following morning just before 
Alice and Dick left. The train would not leave until 
evening, but they were all going in to make a tour of 
the Indian remains and to do some shopping. Frank 
was driving for the guests and Marian; the young- 
sters were with the Captain. Marian reached down 
under the seat to push a satchel out of the way of 
her feet, and to her surprise, came in painful contact 
with a fish hook. She pulled up a bunch of line and 
several hooks. 

“Oh, I wondered what became of our lines,” she 
said carelessly. “Wing must have put them in for 
us.” 

She looked up to find both Dick and Frank re- 
garding her with interest and Alice looking reproach- 
ful. 

“Methinks,” remarked Dick, gazing at the heavens 
thoughtfully, “I see a great light.” 

“I knew they’d let it out,” Frank replied meanly. 
“Women are clever, but a secret is too many for 
them every time.” 

The day was cloudy but sultry. Collars wilted 
and little damp spots appeared between their shoul- 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 235 

der blades if they ventured to lean against the backs 
of the seats. 

Leaves were curling in the corn fields; the prairies 
were parched with the heat. Frank got out and ex- 
amined several of the ears of corn just heading out 
in a field they passed. 

He looked sober when he returned. “Forty-eight 
hours more like to-day will finish that field. It’s a 
trifle better on the bottom lands.” 

Marian and Alice scanned the heavens. “That 
cloud bank off to the south looks hopeful,” said 
Marian after several minutes’ silence. 

Whether it was the weather or their unusual ex- 
ertions of the preceding day or the menace of the 
drouth, that weighed upon them, it would be hard to 
say, but their interest in the Old Mission and the 
Indian mound on the Cook place was languid. Per- 
haps Ernest had been right when he declared that 
they were more interesting to hear about than to 
see. “It looks just like other houses, only the walls 
are thicker and the stone chimneys go clear down to 
the ground outside!” Katy exclaimed, distinctly dis- 
appointed at the appearance of the one-time fort. 

“Of course, it was just a school house. They used 
it for a fort because it was stronger than any of the 
other houses, and, being all of stone, the Indians 
couldn’t set it on fire so easy.” 

The Indian mound looked as if somebody had 


236 Chicken Little Jane 

made a nice symmetrical sand pile about twenty feet 
high out in the middle of the prairie and then grassed 
it over neatly. 

“If we could cut into it after the fashion of a 
birthday cake,” said Captain Clarke, ‘‘you would 
find some very interesting things inside, I imagine, 
weapons and iron utensils. I should think Mr. Cook 
would take the trouble to explore it some day. 

“I guess he isn’t interested in anything unless he 
sees a dollar close by,” Ernest replied. 

They had dinner at the one decently kept hotel in 
Garland, and scattered along the comfortable ve- 
randa afterwards to rest and cool off. 

Ernest pointed out the place near the top of the 
bluff where a dark spot in the rocky ledge revealed 
the location of the hermit’s cave. “Who is ready 
for the climb?” he asked, rejoining the others. 

“I pass,” said Dick from the depths of a willow 
porch chair. 

“And I,” Marian echoed. 

“I am just dying to go, Ernest, but it wouldn’t be 
proper for me to desert my liege Lord.” Alice shot 
a mischievous glance at the occupant of the willow 
chair. 

“I couldn’t think of leaving our guests,” Frank 
stopped smoking long enough to say. 

“Put it to a vote, Ernest, and save us the trouble 
of inventing excuses,” remarked the Captain dryly. 


Dick and Alice Go On Alone 237 

“Resolved — That we stay right where we are 

until train time. All in favor ” He was not 

permitted to continue. A chorus of “Ayes” drowned 
him out, the Captain leading. 

And they stayed until train time. 

“What is it,” queried Ernest as they started home- 
ward, “about a railroad train that makes one so 
crazy to go along?” 

“Is it the train, or merely your love of adven- 
ture?” suggested Captain Clarke. 

“I think it’s because a train always seems so — oh, 
jolly — and exciting,” ventured Katy. 

“That’s only part,” said Chicken Little, who had 
been studying; “it’s wondering what’s at the other 
end of the track that tempts you so.” 

“Pooh, I know what’s at the other end of this 
track and it tempts me like sixty.” 

<r Home?” Katy and Jane asked together. 

“No, supper!” 




The household was awakened in the middle of the 
night by peals of thunder and the rush of rain 
against the windows. Chicken Little was drenched 
before she could get the window down next their 
bed. 

“‘I don’t care,” she said, as she hunted out a dry 
gown, “it’s raining and Ernest can go to college.” 

They slept late the following morning. The rain 
was coming down in a steady, business-like way that 
gladdened the heart of every farmer on the creek. 
Dr. Morton was jubilant. 

“This will save the corn and make thousands of 
dollars difference in the hay yield in the country,* 
he remarked at the breakfast table. 

“That’s what I don’t like about farming,” said 
Ernest. “So much depends on things that you can’t 
238 


Chicken Little and Ernest 239 

help. A man can work like a dog, and along comes 
a drouth or chinch bugs or too much rain during the 
haying season and, presto, all his fond hopes are 
knocked sky high.” 

“Well,” replied his father, “I guess there are 
mighty few businesses or professions where you 
don’t have to take chances. By the way, Son, I’m 
beginning to be afraid your hopes of Annapolis may 
be disappointed. I don’t understand why Senator 
Pratt ignores my letter this way.” 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Father, Captain Clarke 
heard at the hotel yesterday that Senator Pratt has 
been seriously ill for several weeks, but they’ve been 
keeping it quiet. They say he’s just beginning to 
take up his affairs again.” 

“We may hear then in a day or two. I believe 
I’ll go to town to-day — it’s too wet to do any work.” 

The day dragged for the young people indoors. 
They tried dominoes and authors, but the boys soon 
found these tame and settled down by themselves 
to chess as more worthy of a masculine intellect. 

The rain ceased and the sun came out about two 
o’clock. Gertie was in the midst of a letter home, 
but Katy and Chicken Little hurried outdoors into 
the moist, fresh air joyfully. 

“Let’s go get some of those summer sweetings. 
I’m hungry for an apple. My, doesn’t the air taste 
good?” Chicken Little was taking deep breaths. 


240 Chicken Little Jane 

They picked their way daintily to avoid the wet 
weeds and high grass. The sky once more serene, 
receded in deep bays above the arches of foliage. 
Every now and then a bird, startled by their com- 
ing, flew out from the branches overhead, sending 
down showers of drops on their hair and shoulders. 

They found the sweeting tree and Chicken Little 
soon had an apron full. It was too wet to linger and 
they had started back, when Chicken Little stopped 
still and made a wry face. “Katy Halford, we 
haven’t fed those pigs!” 

“No sir, we haven’t!” 

“Say, this would be an awful good time to do it — 
everything’s so wet, we could loosen one of the stones 
easy. And I guess they’ll do the rest fast enough.” 

“If we don’t give ’em much to eat they’ll want to 
get out worse.” 

The days since Alice’s and Dick’s coming had 
been so full they had found no opportunity to carry 
out Jane’s scheme for ridding themselves gracefully 
of their burdensome boarders. Katy had explained 
the plan to Gertie, who heartily endorsed it. She 
went back to the house after her now, while Chicken 
Little began scouting to see if there were anyone 
about. The coast seemed clear. Jim Bart had gone 
to look after the pasture fences, and Marian told 
her that Ernest and Sherm had taken the wheelbar- 
row and started to the south field after a load of 


Chicken Little and Ernest 241 

watermelons. “They’ll be back in half an hour if 
you want them for anything, Jane.” 

Jane didn’t want them for anything: she merely 
wanted them safely out of the way. 

She sped back to the house. “Hurry, girls, every- 
body’s gone, and Marian’s putting Jilly to sleep in 
the bedroom on the other side of the cottage, so she 
won t see us. I 11 go get the milk and those pea pods 
Annie saved.” 

Katy and Gertie undertook the feeding, while 
Chicken Little went to the tool house for pick and 
spade. The log pig pen was merely one corner of 
the big hog corral, fenced off for the benefit of the 
new litters to protect them from the older hogs. 
Stones had been securely embedded underneath the 
lowest rail to keep the pigs from burrowing out 
beneath. Chicken Little went into the corral and 
inspected these, carefully trying one or two with the 
pick. 

“Here’s one that isn’t very big and it’s loose at 
one corner. Let’s try it.” 

The stone had been put there to stay and did not 
yield readily. Jane dug till she was tired, then Katy 
took a hand. Gertie had been posted as a sentinel 
where she could watch the road. 

They strained and tugged, but the stone was ob- 
stinate. Jane was getting red in the face. 

“The old hateful I’ll get it out or bust !” 


242 Chicken Little Jane 

“Perhaps I can help you, Chicken Little.” 

The girls glanced up in dismay. Sherm stood 
there grinning. He had come back across lots. 

“What you trying to do, anyhow? Have your 
pets been getting out?” 

There was nothing to do but take Sherm into their 
confidence. 

“Please promise you won’t tell, Sherm — they’d 
tease me to death if they know. But we’re sick of 
those pigs. I never want to lay eyes on a pig again. 
So we thought we’d just loosen a stone so they could 
get into the corral with the others and Father’d 
think they’d dug out themselves. Nobody can ever 
pick ’em out from the others. They are every bit as 
big as old Whity’s pigs and Father turned them in 
two weeks ago.” 

Sherm chuckled. “Mum’s the word. Hand over 
the pick and we’ll do such an artistic job that the 
porkers themselves will think they are responsible 
for the whole business. I don’t blame you. That’s 
not girl’s work !” 

The pigs rose to the occasion beautifully. The 
tiny opening called as loudly as a pile of corn. 
They continued the excavating so promptly and ex- 
peditiously that by the time Dr. Morton returned 
from town, every piglet had deserted its maternal 
ancestor and. was joyously rooting for itself in the 
corral. 


Chicken Little and Ernest 243 

“I don’t see how those pigs got out,” said Dr. 
Morton disgustedly. “I thought that small pen was 
secure.” 

The girls listened attentively. 

“They were there at four o’clock, I saw them,” 
Sherm remarked. 

“Oh, I suppose the heavy rain loosened the earth 
and it was easy rooting.” 

“Possibly,” said Sherm. 

The incident might have awakened more interest 
if the Doctor had not returned, bringing a fateful 
letter. The long-expected letter from Senator Pratt 
had come. He would be most happy to give Ernest 
the appointment immediately, if he thought he could 
pass the mental examinations. An extra examination 
was to be held on the 30th at Annapolis. He was 
sending a catalogue and some special literature 
as to the ground to be covered, by the same 
mail. He would, however, recommend that Ernest 
go immediately to some reputable physician and see 
if he could pass the physical examination. They had 
a naval surgeon there in Topeka, if he cared to incur 
the expense of a visit to the Capital. 

Ernest was so busy poring over the catalogue that 
he could hardly be induced to stop long enough to 
eat his supper. 

“Pm more afraid of the mathematics than any- 
thing else. I wonder if I couldn’t get Prof. Smith 


244 Chicken Little Jane 

to coach me. I could study all week and go In Sat- 
urdays to recite.” 

“The first thing to do is to get that doctor’s cer- 
tificate. We’ll go to town to-morrow and have Dr. 
Hardy look you over, and if he doesn’t find any- 
thing suspicious, we’ll run down to Topeka to see 
the surgeon and call on the senator at the same time. 
I think I could go Monday.” 

The entire family held its breath or at least tried 
to, for the next few days. Mrs. Morton quite for- 
got how badly she had wanted Ernest to have an 
education, when she learned that he could only come 
home once a year, and then only for a short month. 
She sighed so much and was so distraught, that the 
family were almost afraid to rejoice with Ernest, 
when he came home jubilantly Waving his physician’s 
certificate. 

“Never mind, Mother, that surgeon may send me 
packing. Don’t worry till you are sure I’m going. 
Even if I am vouched for as up to the scratch physic- 
ally, I may flunk, alas! Wouldn’t that be nice after 
Father had put up a lot of money to send me on? 
You’d be ashamed of me, Mother, you wouldn’t 
want to see me come home.” 

“I am not expecting you to fail, son,” said Dr. 
Morton, “though I wish we could have arranged 
matters sooner to give you more time for review. 
But with the exception of a little extra mathematics, 


Chicken Little and Ernest 245 

the requirements are certainly no worse than for col- 
lege entrance exams. And you’ve tested yourself 
out twice on those. Aren’t you glad I insisted on 
more geometry?” 

“He doesn’t need to come home if he does fail. 
He can visit some of our friends in Centerville till 
college opens. It would only be a few days,” Frank 
consoled him. “However, I am not expecting you 
to fail, old boy. I have always flattered myself that 
the Morton family are not lacking in brains, and you 
know how to study.” 

“I most wish he would fail so he could come to 
see us. Mother would love to have him spend the 
Christmas vacations with us,” put in Katy naively. 

“Thank you, Katy, I’d enjoy nothing better, but 
I’ve kinder set my heart on showing this naval out- 
fit that a wild and woolly Kansan can measure up 
with some of those down-easters.” 

The naval surgeon confirmed Dr. Hardy’s judg- 
ment. The senator had been cordial, and after some 
questioning, said he would send Ernest’s name to the 
department immediately. He also gave him some 
helpful suggestions as to what subjects to put the 
emphasis on. 

Two weeks seemed a pretty short time for prep- 
aration. Ernest thanked his lucky star that he had 
done a little studying through the summer in prep- 
aration for his college entrance, and was not rusty. 


246 Chicken Little Jane 

The entire family waited on him and followed him 
round till Frank declared they would ruin the boy, if 
he didn’t get off soon. Chicken Little sadly neg- 
lected her guests whenever it was possible to hang 
round Ernest. But Ernest was so busy, she seldom 
had a word alone with him. The two were very 
dear to each other despite their occasional bickering, 
and Chicken Little was almost jealous of every one 
who came near him during those last few days. 

“Ernest,” said his father the Saturday before his 
departure, “will you take one farewell turn at herd- 
ing to-morrow? Jim Bart wants to get off for the 
day and I’d like to have the cattle clean off that 
stubble field. I think I will plow early and put it in 
winter wheat this year. I have promised to drive 
Mother and the girls to town to church in the morn- 
ing. We are to have dinner with the parson and 
won’t be home until evening.” 

That evening Ernest overtook Chicken Little com- 
ing up from the spring with the butter and cream. 

“Say, Sis, don’t you want to stay home and help 
me herd to-morrow? The girls wouldn’t mind this 
once.” 

“Oh, I’d love it. We just haven’t had a good talk 
for ages — but I don’t know what Mother’ll say.” 

“I’ll fix Mother,” he answered confidently. 

Later, he whispered: “It’s all O. K.” 

“Gee, I guess Mother’d give you the moon if she 


Chicken Little and Ernest 247 

could, she feels so bad about having you go so far 
away.” 

“Poor Mother, it’s mighty rough on her out here 
on the ranch. Say, Sis, I don’t mind if you want to 
wear some of my old truck to-day — we’ll just be 
down in the field and your riding skirt will be a 
nuisance in among the cattle.” 

This was a mighty concession for Ernest, who had 
a considerable share of his mother’s respect for the 
conventions. Chicken Little appreciated it. 

She reached up and gave him a big hug. 

“It’s going to be awful hard to have you go, Er- 
nest.” 

Ernest didn’t say anything in reply, but he 
squeezed his young sister tight, as if he were real- 
izing himself that he was about to miss something 
precious from his life. 

The two were up early the next morning and off 
with the herd before the rest of the family were 
fairly through breakfast. Sherm was going in with 
the others to church. Annie had put up a lunch for 
Ernest and Jane; they did not expect to get back to 
the house until late afternoon. 

The day was an August masterpiece, warm, but 
not too warm, with a fresh breeze blowing and 
shreds of blue haze lingering over the timber along 
the creek. 

“It has almost a fall feel,” said Chicken Little. 


248 Chicken Little Jane 

A brisk half-hour’s work, in which Huz and Buz 
took an active part, hindering rather more than help- 
ing in the cattle driving, was sufficient to transfer the 
herd from the pasture to the stubble field. Chicken 
Little was thankful she had discarded her skirt, for 
they had many a chase after refractory animals 
through the timber and underbrush. Calico and 
Caliph, being mustangs, seemed to enjoy the sport 
as much as their riders. 

“Cricky, Caliph is almost human when it comes 
to heading off a steer, and he’s never done much 
cattle driving either. He must have inherited the 
range instinct.” 

“Humph, what about Calico?” retorted Jane. 

He turned that roan Father always says is so 
mean, three times.” 

The cattle scattered over the stubble eagerly. 
Ernest picketed the ponies so they could graze after 
their good work and he and Chicken Little threw 
themselves down under a red bud tree near the edge 
of the field to rest. 

“They won’t stray much till they get their stom- 
achs full, said Ernest, “and that won’t be before 
afternoon. I brought a book along — Cooper’s 
‘Naval History.’ It’s great, though Father says 
it’s better romance than history. Do you mind if I 
read you a bit?” 

Chicken Little backed up against a tree and set* 


Chicken Little and Ernest 249 

tied herself comfortably and they were soon fighting 
with Paul Jones, so utterly absorbed that the herd 
had drifted down to the farther end of the field be- 
fore they realized it. A half dozen adventurous 
beasts were already disappearing into the timber, 
apparently headed for the Captain’s cornfield, which 
lay just beyond the creek. 

“The pesky brutes! Why can’t they be content 
with a good square meal at home?” Ernest hated 
to be interrupted. 

“Perhaps they like to go visiting as much as we 
do. Besides, they don’t often have a chance at 
green corn.” 

It took some time to recover the truants. By the 
time they were settled once more under the tree, the 
sun was nearing the zenith and they were growing 
hungry. 

“It’s only half past eleven, but I’m starved. Let’s 
eat now.” Ernest eyed the packet of luncheon hun- 
grily. 

“All right, go fill the water jug, and I’ll get it 
out.” 

After lunch they read for awhile, but, presently, 
the sun seemed to grow hotter and they commenced 
to feel drowsy. They decided to take turns watch- 
ing the cattle and napping. The cattle also seemed 
to feel the heat and were hunting patches of shade, 
lying down to chew their cuds contentedly. The 


250 Chicken Little Jane 

air seemed palpitating with the incessant humming 
and whirring of insects. Bees, and white and yellow 
butterflies flittered in a mat of weeds and wild black- 
berry vines, which had entirely covered an angle of 
the old rail fence near them. 

Ernest’s nap was a long one. The boy had been 
studying hard for his examinations and was thor- 
oughly tired. He was lying on his side, his face 
resting on his hand, and his old straw hat drawn 
over his face to keep off the flies. But the nagging 
insects soon discovered his neck and hands. Chicken 
Little fished his bandanna out of his pocket to pro- 
tect his neck, covering the hand that lay on the grass 
with her own handkerchief. 

He woke at length with a start, smiling up at 
Chicken Little when he discovered the handker- 
chiefs. 

“Thank you, Sis. Whew, I must have slept for 
keeps,” he added, glancing at the sun. “It’s four 
o’clock. The folks will be along about six.” 

He sat up and took a survey of the field. The 
cattle were all quiet. Chicken Little was braiding 
little baskets with a handful of cat tail leaves she 
had brought from the slough. Ernest reached over 
and patted the busy fingers. 

“Sis, I’m mighty fond of you — do you know it?” 

Chicken Little looked up at him affectionately. “I 
suspected it, Ernest,” she answered demurely. 


Chicken Little and Ernest 251 

The boy was going on with his own thoughts. 
“I’m mighty glad to get away from the ranch. I 
don’t believe I’m cut out for this sort of thing. 
Guess, maybe, I’m not democratic enough — you re- 
member that party at Jenkins’? Well, I’ve been 
thinking about it a good deal since. I guess Sherm 
sort of set me to thinking with his fuss about the 
kissing games. At any rate, I’ve made up my mind 
I don t intend to be like any of the boys on this creek, 
and I don’t propose that you shall be like any of the 
girls if I can help it. It isn’t that they aren’t smart 
enough and good enough. The people round here 
are mighty touchy about one person’s being just as 
good as another. Maybe one person is born just as 
good as anybody else, but, thank goodness, they don’t 
all stay alike. I mayn’t be any better than the Craft 
boys, but I know I’m a sight cleaner, and I don’t 
murder the king’s English quite every other word, 
and I know enough to be polite to a lady. And if I 
take the trouble to make myself decent, and they 
don’t, I don’t see any reason why I should be ex- 
pected to pretend they’re as good as I am.” 

Ernest was waxing wroth. The insistent equality 
of the Creek was on his nerves. 

“I don’t care if people do think I’m stuck up — 
I’m going to try to associate with the kind of people 
I like. It isn’t money — it’s just nice living. If it 
wasn’t for people like the Captain and one or two 


252 Chicken Little Jane 

others we’d forget what lady and gentleman meant. 
And that isn’t saying that there aren’t lots of good 
kind people on the Creek, too. But they’re so dead 
satisfied with themselves the way they are — they 
don’t seem to know there is any better way to live.” 

Chicken Little was listening eagerly. 

“I know what you mean. Lots of it’s little things. 
I noticed that night at the Jenkins’. Mamie’s pret- 
tier than me and the boys like her better, but I don’t 
want to be like her all the same.” 

“I should think not, Chicken Little, and you 
needn’t worry. You’re nothing but a kid yet, but by 
the time you’re eighteen, Mamie Jenkins won’t hold 
a candle to you. And while I think of it, Sis, the 
less you see of Mamie the better. And I don’t want 
you playing any more kissing games — you’re too 
big.” 

“Humph, you just said I was nothing but a kid. 
You’re as bad as Mother.” 

Ernest was not to be diverted. “None of your 
dodging. I want you to promise me you won’t.” 

Chicken Little considered. 

“It isn’t that I want to play them,” she argued, 
“but if I don’t, I’ll have to sit and look on and all 
the old folks’ll ask me if I’m not well, and the girls’ll 
say I’m stuck up. It wasn’t as easy as you seem to 
think, Ernest Morton, but I’ll promise, if you’ll 
promise not to kiss any girl while you’re gone.” 


Chicken Little and Ernest 253 

“Nonsense, Jane, you don’t understand. It’s dif- 
ferent with a boy.” 

Chicken Little fixed her brown eyes upon Ernest’s 
face musingly. 

“How is it different?” 

“Chicken Little Jane Morton, haven’t you had 
any raising? You know as well as I do it isn’t nice 
for a girl to let boys kiss her.” 

Chicken Little considered. “You needn’t be so 
toploftical; girls don’t want most boys to kiss ’em.” 

“Most?” 

“That’s what I said. I hated it when Grant kissed 
me at Mamie’s party, but I don’t know that I’d mind 
if Sherm ” 

She got no further. Ernest bristled with broth- 
erly indignation. 

“Has Sherm ever ” 

“Of course not, Sherm wouldn’t! I guess it’s be- 
cause I know he wouldn’t, that I shouldn’t much 
mind if he did.” 

Chicken Little said this soberly, but her face grew 
a little red. 

Ernest’s brotherly eyes were observant. 

“Oh, Sherm’s all right, but Sis, I want that prom- 
ise. 

“I told you I’d promise if you would.” Chicken 
Little drew her lips together in a firm way. 

“But I can’t — it would be silly — I might look 


254 Chicken Little Jane 

ridiculous sometime if I refused. The fellows would 
guy me if they knew I made such a promise.” 

“Well, I just told you they’d guy me if I refused 
to do what the others do.” 

“But, Chicken Little, it isn’t nice.” 

“I guess I know that as well as you do. And I 
don’t know that I shall ever play that kind of games 
again, but I’m not going to promise if you won’t. 
Boys don’t need to think they can do everything they 
want to, just because they’re boys. You don’t want 
anybody to kiss me, but I’d like to know how you 
are going to kiss a girl without making somebody 
else’s sister do something that isn’t nice, Ernest Mor- 
ton.” 

The discussion ended there. Ernest was not very 
worldly wise himself, and Chicken Little’s reasoning 
was certainly logical. 

They had but little time to talk after that. The 
cattle began to roam restlessly once more and they 
were in the saddle pretty constantly for the re- 
mainder of the afternoon. 

Ernest took the trouble to lift her down from Cal- 
ico when they reached the stable that evening, an 
unusual attention. He also gave her a shy kiss on 
the cheek and whispered: “I’ll promise, Sis. I 
don’t know but you are about half right.” 



“Golly, I sha’n’t have any fingers left by the time 
I finish this needle case ! King’s excuse, Katy, you 
needn’t mind. I know I said it, but if you tried to 
push a needle through this awful leather and pricked 
yourself every other stitch you’d say Golly, too.” 
Chicken Little edged off as she saw Katy approach- 
ing. 

Katy was not to be deterred. “You said to pinch 
vou every single time, Jane Morton, and you’ve said 
it twice. Besides, your mother said she hoped I 
could cure you.” Katy gave Chicken Little’s arm 
two vigorous pinches to emphasize this statement. 

Chicken Little did not take this kindly office in 
the spirit in which it was intended. She hated to sew 
and she had been toiling all morning on a little 
bronze leather case to hold needles, buttons, and 
pins — a parting gift to Ernest. 

255 


256 Chicken Little Jane 

“Katy Halford, I told you not to! I think you 
are real mean to do it when I’m having such a hard 
time. I’ll thank you not to any more, if I do say 
it.” 

“You don’t need to go and get mad! You told 
me to.” 

“Yes, and I just now told you not to !” 

“I guess you’d say King’s excuse every time if I d 
let you. A lot of good it’s going to do, if you sneak 
out of it whenever you want to.” 

“I don’t sneak out of it — this is the very first time, 
and you know it!” 

“I don’t know any such thing, but I don’t think it’s 
very good manners to be telling your guests they’re 
saying something that isn’t so ! The day before 
they’re going home, too!” Katy forgot the dignity 
of her fifteen years. 

“Well, I think it’s quite as good manners as to tell 
your friends they’re sneaks!” Jane’s tone was 
icy. 

Gertie came between the belligerents. “Please 
don’t quarrel, girls. It’d be dreadful the very last 
day, aTer we have had such a beautiful summer. I 
never did have such a good time in all my life. I 
most wish I could live on a ranch always.” 

“I shouldn’t like to live on a ranch, but we have 
had a jolly time, Chicken Little,” Katy recovered 
herself enough to say graciously. 


Off to Annapolis 257 

Chicken Little was not to be outdone. “I sup- 
pose I was ugly, Katy. It always makes me cross to 
sew. I wish nobody had ever invented needles. O 
dear, I shall be as lonesome as pie when you are 
gone. It isn’t much fun being the only girl on the 
ranch, I tell you. Sometimes, I don’t even see an- 
other girl for weeks.” 

“But your school begins soon, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes, and I’ll have Sherm. I just don’t believe I 
could bear to have Ernest go if Sherm wasn’t going 
to stay.” 

“I’m awful glad Mr. Lenox put off coming for 
another day so we can go on the same train with 
Ernest.” Katy had been exulting over this for the 
past twenty-four hours. 

“Ernest will be on the train for three days. I 
feel as if he would be as far away as if he were go- 
ing to China.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Mor- 
ton’s entrance. 

“Would you rather have chocolate or cocoanut 
cake for your lunch, girls? Annie has killed three 
chickens, and I thought you could take a basket of 
those big yellow peaches; I only wish I could send 
some to your mother. And I’ll put in cheese and 
cold-boiled ham and a glass of current jelly. Mr. 
Lenox may want to get a meal or two at the stations, 
but you are so hurried at these — and it’s always well 


258 Chicken Little Jane 

to have plenty of lunch in traveling. Dr. Morton 
told Ernest that he’d better get all his breakfasts at 
the eating houses to have something hot. And by the 
third day his lunch will be too stale — even if there is 
any left.” 

Ernest was creepy with excitement between joy at 
going and his haunting fear that he might disgrace 
the family by failing to pass the examinations. 

“Buck up, old chap,” Frank admonished, “you’ve 
got facts enough in your head if you can only get 
them out at the right time. My advice is to forget 
all about exams and enjoy your trip. One doesn’t 
go to Washington and Baltimore every day. You 
ought to have several hours in St. Louis if your 
train is on time. Be sure to eat three square meals 
every day and keep yourself as fresh as you can and 
I’ll back you to pass any fair test.” 

“If you have time in St. Louis I want you to be 
sure to go and see Shaw’s Gardens. They used to 
be wonderful and they must have been greatly im- 
proved since I saw them,” said Mrs. Morton. 

Each individual member of the Morton family, 
except Jilly and Huz and Buz, took Ernest aside for 
a parting chat with advice and remembrances. Jilly 
and the dogs secured their share by getting in the 
way as often as possible. 

Chicken Little had her turn first. She tendered 
the needle case doubtfully. 


Off to Annapolis 259 

Mother said you would have to sew on your own 
buttons at the Academy and that you’d find this 
mighty handy, but I’d loathe to have anybody give 
me such a present. And, Ernest, here’s the five dol- 
lars I got last birthday. You take it and buy some- 
thing you really want.” 

Ernest demurred about accepting the money, but 
Jane insisted. 

"Little Sis, you’re sure a dear ” Ernest 

found himself choking up most unaccountably. He 
gave her a good old-fashioned hug in conclusion to 
save himself the embarrassment of words. 

Dr. Morton took his son into the parlor and closed 
the door immediately after dinner. They stayed an 
hour, during which time the Doctor gave Ernest 
much practical advice about his conduct and sundry 
warnings not to be extravagant or careless in hand- 
ling his money. No sooner had they emerged, Er- 
nest looking important and rather dazed, when his 
mother laid her hand upon his arm, saying: “My 
son, I also wish to have a little talk with you. We 
shall be hurried in the morning so perhaps we would 
better have it now.” 

Ernest returned to the parlor with his mother. 
Chicken Little lay in wait outside in the hall. She 
and Katy had a beautiful plan for a last boat ride 
that afternoon. She knew Ernest would be going 
over to say good-bye to the Captain anyway. 


26 o 


Chicken Little Jane 


Chicken Little waited and yawned and waited and 
squirmed for a solid hour and a quarter. The steady 
hum of her mother’s voice was interrupted occasion- 
ally by brief replies from Ernest. At last, Chicken 
Little heard a movement and roused herself joy- 
ously. But her mother began to speak again — this 
time with reverent solemnity. Chicken Little for- 
got herself and listened a moment. 

“Umn, I guess she’s praying — they must be most 
through. Golly, I bet Ernest’s tired!” 

When the door opened a moment later there were 
tears on Mrs. Morton’s lashes and Ernest looked 
sober. He held a handsome Oxford bible in his 
hand. Mrs. Morton glanced at Jane suspiciously, 
but passed on into the sitting room. 

Chicken Little surveyed her brother wickedly. 

“Did Mother give you a new bible?” 

“Yep.” 

“I thought you had one.” 

“Got two — Mother forgot, I s’pose.” 

“Bet you’d rather have had a new satchel — that 
bible must have cost a lot.” 

“Yes, I would, but don’t you dare let on to 
Mother. I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for a farm! 
She’s awful good, but she doesn’t understand how a 
fellow feels about things. I’d rather be licked any 
day than prayed over. I guess if I attended all the 
‘means of grace’ she wants me to, I wouldn’t have 


Off to Annapolis 261 

any time left for lessons. I’m going to try all-fired 
hard not to do anything to hurt Mother or make 
her ashamed of me, but J’m not calculating to wear 
out the pews at prayer meetings — not so you’d notice 
it.” Ernest grinned at Chicken Little defiantly. 

Jane replied soberly: 

“A prayer meeting’s a real treat to Mother. She 
hasn’t had a chance to go to one for so long she is 
just pining for the privilege, but I bet she didn’t feel 
that way when she, was young! But she thinks she 
did, so there’s no use fussing.” 

Marian’s admonition to Ernest was brief and to 
the point. She stood him up against the wall and 
looked him so squarely in the eyes that she could 
see her own reflection in the pupils. Ernest’s six 
feet of vigorous youth was good to look at. His 
hazel eyes gazed back at her steadfastly. Marian 
smiled up at him. 

“Ernest Morton, I’m downright proud to be your 
sister, and if you can look me in the eye as fearlessly 
and unashamed when you come home, I shall be still 
prouder. I want to tell you something I overheard 
in a store the other day about Father. Some men 
were evidently discussing him in connection with a 
business deal, and one remarked emphatically: ‘Old 
man Morton may have his weaknesses like the rest 
of us humans, but his word’s as good as his bond 
any day, and there’s precious few men you can say 


262 


Chicken Little Jane 


that of.’ It’s worth while to have that sort of a 
father, Ernest, but it makes the Morton name some- 
what of a responsibility to live up to, doesn’t it?” 

Marian gave him a pat and pulled his head down 
to kiss him. 

Katy and Gertie had been busy all day with their 
own preparations for departure. Marian was help- 
ing them with their packing, because Mrs. Morton 
had her hands full with the lunch and Ernest’s clothes 
and trunk. Chicken Little vibrated between the two 
centers of interest. Jilly also assisted, contributing 
articles of her own when she . caught the spirit of 
packing. Her mother rescued a cake of soap and 
one of her shoes, but after Katy and Gertie arrived 
at home, they discovered one of Jilly’s nighties re- 
posing on top of their Sunday hats and her rag doll 
neatly wedged in a corner of their trunk. Ernest 
was not overlooked either. When he unpacked at 
Annapolis, his recently acquired New York room- 
mate was decidedly amazed to see him draw forth 
a small, pink stocking from the upper tray and a little 
later, a soiled woolly sheep along with his shirts. 
Ernest found his explanations about a baby niece 
received rather incredulously until a choice packet 
containing half a doughnut, a much-mutilated peach, 
two green apples, and a mud pie appeared. Jilly 
had evidently prepared a lunch for her uncle. They 
both went off into rumbles of mirth over this remark- 


Off to Annapolis 263 

able exhibit and began a friendship which was des- 
tined to be enduring. 

Jane’s boat ride scheme found favor, but Mrs. 
Morton declared they must put it off till after sup- 
per. They drove over and found the Captain smok- 
ing contentedly on the veranda. 

“I was hoping you young people would come to- 
night,” he said, “though I intended going to the 
train to see you off in any event. I shall miss these 
young ladies sadly, and Ernest seems to belong to 
me a little, now that he has decided to be a sailor, 
too.” 

“If I get in, I shall owe it to you, for I should 
never have thought of Annapolis if you hadn’t sug- 
gested it,” Ernest replied. 

“Well, I trust I have not influenced you to a de- 
cision you will some day regret. You seem to me to 
have many of the qualifications for a naval officer.” 

“Do you think he is sufficiently qualified to row 
the Chicken Little, Captain Clarke?” asked Jane 
suggestively. 

The Captain’s eyes twinkled. “If he isn’t, I think 
Sherm is. We might let the one who gets there first 
prove his skill.” 

The boys were not slow in acting upon this hint. 
They sprinted their best without waiting for a 
starter, and reached the skiff so exactly together that 
the question of precedence was still unsettled. The 


264 Chicken Little Jane 

boys did not wait for an umpire. Ernest untied the 
boat and both attempted to fling themselves in with 
disastrous results. The Chicken Little had not been 
built for wrestling purposes. She tipped sufficiently 
to spill both boys into the creek. The water was 
shallow, but Sherm was wet well up t b the waist, and 
Ernest, who had been pitched still farther out, was 
soaked from head to foot. They appeared ludi- 
crously surprised and sheepish. 

The girls and the Captain laughed most unfeel- 
ingly. But Chicken Little immediately began to 
consider the consequences. 

“Poor Mother, she’ll have to dry that suit out and 
press it before it can be packed. It’s a blessed thing 
you didn’t wear your new suit as you wanted to, 
Ernest Morton.” 

“My, but you are wet!” exclaimed Katy. 
“Oughtn’t you to go right home and change?” 

“Come with me into the house, boys. I think 
Wing and I can fix you up.” The Captain cut a 
laugh in the middle to offer aid. 

The lads were so ludicrously crestfallen; they 
were doubly comical. 

Wing, fortunately, had a good fire in the kitchen 
and soon had their wet garments steaming before it, 
while the Captain hunted out dry clothes for them. 
Some spirit of mischief prompted him to array Er- 
nest in an old uniform of his own, with amazing 


Off to Annapolis 265 

results, for Ernest was considerably slimmer than 
the older man, and fully two inches taller. The 
ample blue coat with its gold braid hung on him as 
on a clothes rack. The sleeves were so short they 
left a generous expanse of wrist in view, and the 
trousers struck him well above the ankle. 

The Captain saluted him ceremoniously, chuckling 
at the boy’s absurd appearance. The girls were 
openly hilarious. 

Chicken Little struck an attitude. “Behold the 
future admiral! Ladies and gentlemen, permit me 
to introduce Admiral Morton, of whose distin- 
guished exploits you have often heard. His recent 
feat of capsizing the enemy’s frigate single-handed, 
has never been equalled in the annals of our glorious 
navy.” 

She was not permitted to finish this speech undis- 
turbed. Ernest had chased her half way round the 
house before she got the last words out. 

He clapped his hand firmly over her mouth to 
restrain her from further eloquence. 

Jane struggled helplessly. “Katy — say, Katy, 

come — help ’ ’ 

Katy, nothing loath, flung herself on Ernest from 
the rear and the three had a joyous tussle, with hon- 
ors on the side of the future admiral, till Sherm, who 
had been a little slower in dressing than Ernest, 
came out the front door. 


266 Chicken Little Jane 

Jane called to him despite the restraining hand 
and her shortening breath: “Sherm, he’s choking 


“Choking nothing — it’s Katy who is choking me — 
just wait till I get hold of you, Miss Halford!” 

Katy had both hands gripped fairly on his coat 
collar and was tugging Ernest backward with all her 
might, while Chicken Little struggled to get away. 

“Come help, — Sherm, please!” Chicken Little 
loosened herself from the gagging hand enough to 
plead again. 

“Keep out, Sherm. Three against one is no fair.” 

Sherm watched the fray a moment, undecided. 

“You may have bigger odds than that, Ernest,” 
laughed the Captain. “You might as well be getting 
your hand in.” 

Sherm sauntered leisurely over and helped Chicken 
Little wrench loose, then, whispering something has- 
tily, took her by the hand and they both made for 
the creek. 

Ernest, relieved of his sister, swung quickly round, 
catching Katy by the shoulders before she could save 
herself. 

“I’ve a mind to ” At this moment he de- 

tected Sherm’s game. “No, you don’t, smarties!” 

Katy likewise saw and acted even more quickly 
than Ernest. She was very light and swift, and she 


Off to Annapolis 267 

darted past Sherm and Chicken Little like a flash, 
reaching the boat twenty seconds ahead. 

“Come on, Ernest!” She slipped the rope deftly 
from the post, not waiting to untie it, and, pushing 
off, leaped lightly into the row boat. 

Ernest needed no second invitation. Katy mo- 
tioned to him to run farther along the bank and pad- 
died the skiff in close enough for him to climb on 
board. Sherm and Chicken Little, dazed by the 
suddenness of this maneuver, were still some feet 
away. 

“Katy Halford, you’re a pretty one to go back on 
your own side that way,” Jane scolded. 

“Katy, I didn’t think it of you — after asking me 
to come and help you, too!” Sherm was also re- 
proachful. 

“I didn’t ask you, Sherman Dart. It was Chicken 
Little.” 

“Of course,” Ernest encouraged. “Katy’s been 
on my side all the time. Haven’t you, Katy?” 

Katy nodded, laughing. 

The Captain, who had followed the young people 
at a more sober gait, smiled at this outcome of the 
skirmish. 

“When a woman will she will, you may depend 
upon it,” he quoted. “The trouble is to find out 
what she wills.” 

Ernest, secure in the rower’s seat, could afford to 


268 


Chicken Little Jane 


be generous. He brought the boat in and took them 
all on board. Gertie had been a quiet spectator of 
the frolic. She had little taste for boisterous fun. 

Captain Clarke handed her in with a flourish. 
“Gertie is my partner.” 

Sherm had his revenge. Ernest rowed energetic- 
ally — so energetically that he was tired enough to 
be willing to resign the oars before a half hour had 
gone by. Under the circumstances he did not quite 
like to ask Sherm to relieve him. Sherm seemed to 
be oblivious to the fact that it required energy to 
propel the boat. He was strumming an imaginary 
banjo as an accompaniment to the familiar melodies 
the girls were softly singing, occasionally joining in 
himself. Katy did not fail to observe that Ernest 
dropped one of his oars to regard a blister ruefully, 
and she did her best to help. 

“Say, Ernest, let me try one oar. I believe I could 
row with you if you would take shorter strokes.” 

Ernest hadn’t much faith in Katy’s skill, but the 
experiment gave him an excuse to rest a minute. He 
moved over and handed her the oar with a little 
smile of gratitude. 

“You’re a trump, Katy,” he whispered. 

Darkness dropped softly in the timber. They 
heard a distant splash where a muskrat had taken to 
the water. Every one wished solemnly by the even- 
ing star. And two of the wishes came true in record 


Off to Annapolis 269 

time. The Captain wished that he might find the 
son so long lost to him. Katy wished — she didn’t 
quite put the wish into words — but she did want Er- 
nest to have what he wanted. One by one the other 
stars twinkled forth and the darkness deepened till 
their faces were dim, white blurs, and the girls’ pink- 
and-blue dresses faded into patches of dusk in the 
blackness. Fireflies winked in the gloom. At the 
Captain’s suggestion, Katy and Ernest rested on 
their oars. They stopped singing and listened to 
the night’s silences — silences broken by rustling move- 
ments from a thicket on the farther bank or by eery 
creakings of the branches overhead. The little 
group felt vaguely the bigness of things, though no 
one but the Captain knew exactly why. 

It was ten o’clock before they went back to the 
house. Wing had performed a miracle in the mean- 
time ; the boy’s suits were not only dried, but neatly 
pressed. 

Mrs. Morton let them all sleep late the next morn- 
ing in view of the long journey ahead for Ernest 
and the girls. 

Poor Sherm found this last day trying. His 
father’s health was not improving and a fear lay 
close in his heart that he should never see him again. 
It was almost more than he could bear to hear the 
girls talk about going home. He eased the ache by 
keeping at work. Dr. Morton had already initiated 


270 Chicken Little Jane 

him into Ernest’s duties. The others were too busy 
to think much about Sherm but Chicken Little, who 
sat beside him at the table, noticed that he scarcely 
tasted his dinner. She started to remark about it, 
but a glance at Sherm’s drawn face warned her in 
time. 

Presently, she had a gracious thought. “Sherm, 
let’s ride Caliph and Calico in to the train, then the 
others won’t be so crowded and Marian and Jilly 
can go, too.” 

Sherm somehow felt better immediately. The 
brisk gallop they took at starting helped still more. 
Sunflowers and golden rod lined the roadside for 
miles; brown cat tails nodded above the swales. A 
bobolink, swaying on a weed stalk near by, answered 
Sherm’s chirrup to the ponies with a volley of golden 
notes. 

“Chicken Little,” he remarked, appropos of noth- 
ing, after they had ridden a few miles, “you are a 
mighty comfortable person to have ’round.” 

“Maybe you won’t think so in a day or two. I 
shall be so lonesome I may be tempted to follow 
you about like Huz and Buz.” 

“You can’t scare me that way, Chicken Little, I 
think the ranch is going to be a pretty loose fit for 
all of us for a few days. But your school begins 
about the middle of September, doesn’t it? That 
will help.” 


Off to Annapolis 271 

“Yes, I wish you were going to school, too. Say, 
Sherm, why couldn’t you arrange to take one or two 
special studies under the new teacher? They say 
he only lacks one year of graduating from college 
and knows a lot. He’s teaching to save the money 
for his last year. Perhaps you might take some of 
your freshman work.” 

“I wish I could — I hate to get behind the rest of 
the boys. But your father is hiring me to work, not 
to study.” 

“I know, but when winter comes you won’t need 
to work all the time, and you’ll have all your even- 
ings — Jim Bart does.” 

“If I could only keep up my mathematics and 
Latin, I wouldn’t be losing so much.” Sherm was 
considering. 

The nine-mile ride to town seemed shorter than 
usual to most of the party that afternoon. Ernest, 
in spite of his joy in actually going away to school, 
found home and home folk unexpectedly dear now 
that he was leaving them for many months. Poor 
Mrs. Morton could hardly tear her eyes from the 
son who was taking his first step away from her. 
Chicken Little was feeling disturbingly sober; no 
Ernest, no Katy, no Gertie — how could she ever 
stand it?” 

“Sherm, if I start to cry, just wink, will you — 
that funny way you do sometimes. Ernest bet I 


272 Chicken Little Jane 

would — and I won’t, but I know I’m going to want 
to dreadfully.” 

Chicken Little was as good as her word. She 
didn’t — that is, as long as Ernest could see her. She 
kissed him good-bye and gave him a playful box on 
the ear. She threw kisses, smiling as the group at 
the car window slid by, then the lump in her throat 
grew startlingly bigger. 

“Race you to the horses, Chicken Little,” said 
Sherm. “If it’s all right with you, Mrs. Morton, 
we’ll go straight home.” 

Chicken Little raced with Sherm and with her 
tears. She beat Sherm but the tears won out. She 
could hardly see to untie Calico’s rein. Sherm took 
the strap out of her hand, fastened it, and swung 
her up. 

“Shut your eyes and open your mouth,” he com- 
manded, as soon as she was securely seated. 

Jane obeyed meekly and Sherm popped a big 
chocolate drop in. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, smiling through the trick- 
ling tears, “was that what you stopped down town 
for? My, what a baby you must think me !” 

Sherm reached over and patted her hand. “I 
think you are several pumpkins and some squash, 
Chicken Little. Have another?” 



The days crawled by during the next two weeks. 

“I hate them so by night, I want to shove them 
off into to-morrow by main force,” Jane told Marian 
complainingly, the third day after Ernest and the 
girls had gone. 

“You’ll be all right in a day or two. It’s always 
hardest at first,” Marian consoled her. 

“I suppose it doesn’t make any difference whether 
I’m all right or all wrong — the folks have gone just 
the same.” 

“And you might as well make the best ” 

“Oh, yes, I might as well! ‘Count your blessings, 
my brethren, etc.’ I’ve done counted ’em till I’m 
sick of hearing about them! Marian, if you don’t 
find me something new to do I shall bust !” 

273 


274 Chicken Little Jane 

Marian was particularly busy that morning and 
not so patient as usual. 

She waved her hand around the room ironically. 
“I shall be charmed, Chicken Little, will you finish 
these dishes or sweep the sitting room or sew on that 
dress of Jilly’s? I can furnish you an endless va- 
riety to choose from.” 

“I said something new.” 

“Jilly’s dress is brand spanking new.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Yes, I know, Jane, I have had the feeling my- 
self, but I don’t imagine the heavens are going to 
open and shower down something new and choice on 
you because you’re lonesome and bored. If you 
can’t amuse yourself, you might as well be useful 
and have something to show for a tedious day.” 

Chicken Little drummed on the window for sev- 
eral minutes without replying, then swung round 
with a grimace. 

“Hand over the dress — I can run up the seams 
on the machine all right, I suppose.” 

The family waited, excited and expectant, for the 
report on Ernest’s examinations. They had had a 
long letter telling of his journey and safe arrival. 
Katy and Gertie and Mrs. Halford had each writ- 
ten long letters full of Centerville news and refer- 
ences to their pleasant summer. Mrs. Halford could 
not say enough concerning the girls’ improved ap- 


School 


275 

pearance. Katy wrote the most interesting item. 
“What do you think? Carol Brown left for An- 
napolis, too. Do you suppose Ernest will know 
him? P. S. We showed him your picture and he 
stared at it awful hard and said — you’ve got to get 
me a trade last for this — ‘Say, Chicken Little’s go 
ing to be a hummer if she keeps on!’ Don’t you 
think I’m nice to tell you?” 

Jane gave the letter to Sherm to read, forgetting 
this part. Sherm snorted when he came to it, glan- 
cing up curiously at her. 

“Do you like that sort of stuff, Chicken Little?” 
he asked later. 

* * * * * * 

It was almost two weeks after Ernest went, be- 
fore Dr. Morton, on his return from town one Sep- 
tember evening, came up the walk excitedly waving 
a telegram. 

“Oh !” exclaimed Chicken Little. 

“He must have passed or Father wouldn’t look so 
pleased,” said Mr^. Morton. 

The doctor came in slightly breathless. 

“Well, Mother, I’m afraid you have lost your 
boy.” 

Mrs. Morton looked startled for a moment, then, 
reassured by her husband’s smile, fumbled nervously 
for her glasses to read the yellow paper he handed 
her. 


Chicken Little Jane 


276 

She was maddeningly deliberate. Jane, perched 
upon the arm of her chair, tried to anticipate her, 
but her mother held it so she could not see. 

“It’s Mother’s place to see it first, daughter.” 

Reproving Chicken Little steadied Mrs. Morton’s 
nerves, and she read the few words aloud with dig- 
nity. 

“Sworn in to-day — hurrah !” Ernest. 

“That means that he ?” She looked inquir- 

ingly at her husband. 

“That means he has passed both physical and 
mental examinations and has been regularly sworn 
in to Uncle Sam’s service.” 

“But I thought he was just going to the Naval 
Academy — why does he have to be sworn in as if 
he were enlisting?” 

“Because he, practically, has enlisted. He enters 
the government service when he enters the academy, 
and he simply takes his oath of allegiance.” 

Mrs. Morton’s questioning was interrupted by the 
entrance of Sherm, Frank, and Marian, who came 
in demanding news. 

“Don’t worry, Mother,” said Frank, patting her 
shoulder, “your precious lamb is in good hands. 
He’ll be back next September such a dude the family 
won’t know how to behave in his presence.” Frank 
couldn’t resist teasing even when he tried to com- 
fort. 


School 277 

Mrs. Morton sighed. “A great many things can 
happen in a year.” 

“Yes, Mother dear, they can, but most always 
they don’t. The only things you can depend on are 
bad weather and work.” 

A letter soon followed the telegram, giving de- 
tails of the examinations, and a glimpse of Ernest’s 
new life, which comforted his mother, because he 
was forming punctual habits and had to go regu- 
larly to chapel whether he wished to or not. He 
had met Carol unexpectedly, to their mutual joy. 
‘‘He’s an awfully handsome chap — knows it, too, 
but I think he has too much sense to let it spoil him. 
It’s jolly to have some one I know here,” Ernest 
wrote. 

School began for Chicken Little at the little brown 
school house a mile distant, on the fifteenth of Sep- 
tember. Chicken Little and the whole Morton fam- 
ily rejoiced, for she had been a most dissatisfied 
young person of late. Her mother watched her 
walk away down the lane, immaculate in her new 
flower-bordered calico, lunch basket in hand, with 
positive thankfulness. 

“Glad to have her out of the way, aren’t you 
Mother? Jane is too restless a girl to be idle,” 
laughed Marian. 

Jane had spoken to her father about her plan for 
Sherm and he had heartily agreed. But Sherm was 


Chicken Little Jane 


278 

not to begin until the first of November when the 
most pressing of the farm work would be over. 

Chicken Little promptly talked the matter over 
also with the new teacher, Mr. Clay, a young man 
of twenty-one, fresh from his junior year at college. 
He was wide awake and attractive, and while ignor- 
ant, as they, of many ‘of the niceties of polite socrety, 
seemed a very elegant being to the majority of his 
new pupils. Mamie Jenkins had concluded to stay 
at home for the fall term instead of going to the 
Garland High School. For some reason it took an 
astonishing number of consultations with the teacher 
to arrange Mamie’s course satisfactorily, especially 
when she learned that Sherm would be coming soon. 
She quizzed Chicken Little carefully as to what 
studies Sherm would take. 

“Geometry and Latin, I think. I asked Mr. Clay 
and he said he could. Maybe bookkeeping, too.” 

“I was just thinking I ought to go on with my 
Latin. I had Beginning Latin last year, and I really 
ought to take Caesar right away before I forget.” 

Jane regarded her thoughtfully. She happened 
to know that Sherm was planning to study Cicero. 
How mad Mamie would be if she started Caesar all 
alone! She had half a mind to let her go ahead. 
Mamie had spent the entire morning recess telling 
her how the boys bored her hanging round. Yes, it 
would do Mamie good to have to recite alone. 


School 279 

Chicken Little shut her lips firmly for a second. 
When she opened them, she replied that she under- 
stood Caesar was a very interesting study. 

Mamie bridled and said condescendingly: “It’s a 
pity you haven’t had Latin so you could come into 
the class, too.” 

“Oh, I see enough of Sherm at home!” returned 
Chicken Little maliciously. Mamie had the faculty 
of always rubbing her up the wrong way. 

Mamie gave her shoulders a fling. “Of course, I 
always forget you are just a little girl, Jane. You’re 

so big and ” Mamie didn’t finish her sentence. 

She merely glanced expressively at Jane’s long legs. 
“I think I’ll go in and talk to Mr. Clay. He must 
be sick of having all those kids hanging round 
him.” 

Mamie sailed off in state, leaving Jane feeling as 
if she had run her hand into a patch of nettles. She 
was standing there in the sunshine looking after 
Mamie resentfully when Grant Stowe came along. 

He nodded toward the school-house door through 
which Mamie had vanished. “What’s Miss Flirtie 
been saying to make you so ruffled? She’s begun to 
sit up nights now fixing her cap for the teacher. Bet 
you a cookie he’s too slick for her.” 

Chicken Little laughed, but retorted: “Humph, 
how many times have you sat on her front porch 
this summer?” 


280 Chicken Little Jane 

Grant reddened. “Oh, we’re neighbors, and a fel- 
low has to kill time summer evenings. Father and 
mother always go to bed with the chickens and it’s 
no fun listening to the frogs all by yourself. Sup- 
pose your folks wouldn’t let anybody come to see 
you — I hear they’re all-fired particular.” 

Jane did not have an opportunity to answer. One 
of the little girls came begging her to play Blackman 
with a group of the younger children. Grant sug- 
gested that she choose up for one side, and he would 
for the other. She had just begun to choose when 
Mr. Clay appeared at her elbow. “May I play on 
your side, Jane?” 

“Teacher’s” entrance into the game acted like 
magic. The few big boys who had come on this first 
day, edged near enough to be seen and were speedily 
brought into the sport. Mamie, venturing languidly 
to the door to see what had become of Mr. Clay, 
suddenly decided she was not too big to play “just 
this once.” 

Teacher and Jane were both swift runners and 
Grant had hard work to make a showing. Mamie 
sweetly let herself be caught by teacher the first rusK 
to Grant’s openly expressed disgust. The big boys 
warmed into envious rivalry with Mr. Clay right 
from the start, but he soon convinced them that they 
would have to work, if they worsted him at any of 
their games or exercises. 


I 


School 281 

Chicken Little found team work with him very 
delightful and could scarcely believe the noon hour 
was over, when he pulled out his watch and an- 
nounced that he must call school. She turned a 
radiant face up to him. 

“Oh, it’s such fun to have you play — I wish you 
would often.” 

“Thank you, it’s fine exercise, isn’t it?” 

Mamie began her Caesar the next day, requiring 
much help from “Teacher.” She also came to school 
in her best dress. Mamie had faith in first impres- 
sions. Chicken Little had been tempted the night 
before to betray Mamie’s schemes to Sherm, but she 
stopped with the words on the tip of her tongue. 
She couldn’t exactly have explained the scruple that 
would not let her “give Mamie away,” as she phrased 
it. 

“Is the teacher any good?” Sherm had asked, 
meeting her at the ford on her way home, and tak- 
ing lunch basket and books with an air of possession, 
which was the one trick of Sherm’s that annoyed 
Chicken Little. He never asked leave or offered 
to relieve her of burdens; he merely reached over 
and took them. 

She minded this more than usual to-day; Mr. 
Clay’s manner had been so delightful. She couldn’t 
even thank Sherm. They trudged along in silence 
for a few minutes. Finally, Sherm asked dryly: 


282 Chicken Little Jane 

“Left your tongue at school, Miss Morton? — you’re 
not very sociable.” 

Chicken Little responded by making a face at him, 
which brought an ominous sparkle into the boy s 
eyes. Things hadn’t gone very well with him that 
day and he had waited for Jane for a little compan- 
ioning. 

“Well,” he demanded gruffly, “what’s the matter? 
Did Mr. Clay stand you in a corner the first day 
or did the handsome Grant neglect you for Mamie?” 

The last thrust put fire in Chicken Little’s eye. 
She turned and looked at him squarely. 

“Sherm, if I slapped you some day would you be 
surprised?” she demanded unexpectedly. 

Sherm flashed a sidelong glance at her. “Not as 
surprised as you’ll be, if you ever try it.” 

Chicken Little considered this remark. Just what 
did he mean? 

Sherm’s face was flushed a trifle angrily. He 
looked as if he might mean most anything. She re- 
plied demurely with a provoking shrug of her shoul- 
ders. 

“I didn’t say I should — but I wanted to dreadfully 
a minute ago.” 

The tall lad beside her seemed genuinely sur- 
prised at this statement. 

“I suppose you know what you are talking about, 
Chicken Little, but I’m blamed if I do.” 


School 283 

“It’s the way you take my books and ” 

“Yes?” Sherm was still more surprised. Then 
an idea popping into his mind, “Oh, I presume you’d 
like to have me take off my hat and make you a pro- 
found reverence as your favorite heroes do in novels. 
What in thunder you girls find to like in those trashy 
novels is more than I can see!” 

Chicken Little bristled. “Hm-n, Walter Scott 
and Washington Irving, trashy! Shows how much 
you know, if you have graduated from High 
School, Sherman Dart! Besides, I didn’t mean any 
such thing. Only, you sort of take my things 
without asking — as if — as if ” She was get- 

ting into rather deeper water than she had antici- 
pated. 

“Yes, as if what?” 

“Oh, I don’t suppose you mean it that way — but 
you act as if I was only a silly little girl — and didn’t 
count!” 

Chicken Little was decidedly red in the face by the 
time she finished. 

Sherm didn’t say anything for a moment, but he 
continued to look at her. He looked at her as if he 
had found something about her he hadn’t noticed 
before. 

“Who put that idea into your head? — Mamie?” 

She shook her head indignantly. 

“Grant Stowe?” 


284 Chicken Little Jane 

“Nobody, thank you, I guess I have a mind of my 
own.” 

“New teacher start in by giving you a lecture on 
deportment ?” 

Chicken Little stamped her foot. “You’re per- 
fectful hateful — and I sha’n’t walk another step with 
you!” 

They were near the gate leading from the lane 
into the orchard and she suited the action to the 
word, by darting through it and running off under 
the trees. 

Sherm looked after her a moment, undecided 
whether to stand on his dignity or to pursue. He 
had considered Jane a little girl — most of the time. 
Some way she was alluringly different to-day. He 
suddenly resolved that he would not be flouted in 
any such fashion. It took him about two minutes to 
catch up with Chicken Little and slip his arm through 
hers. 

“No, you don’t, Miss. You are going to sit down 
here under this tree and tell me exactly what’s the 
matter !” 

Chicken Little struggled rebelliously, but Sherm 
held her firmly. 

“I can’t — Mother told me to come straight home 
from school; she wanted me.” 

“Fibber! Your mother and Marian went over to 
Benton’s this afternoon. You needn’t try to dodge 


School 285 

you and I are going tcf have this out right now. 
So you might as well be obliging and sit down com- 
fortably.’’ 

“It wasn’t anything to make such a fuss about.” 

“Then why are you making such a row?” 

Chicken Little flung herself down upon the 
grass. 

Sherm stretched his muscular length on the sward 
in front of her and began to chew a grass stem in a 
leisurely fashion while he watched her. 

Chicken Little pulled a handful of long grasses 
and commenced plaiting them. Her hair was wind- 
blown and her face rose-flushed from her run. She 
declined to look at Sherm. 

Chicken Little — O Chicken Little, are you very 
mad? Chicken Little?” 

Chicken Little kept her brown eyes fixed upon the 
pliant stems. 

“Chicken Little,” Sherm murmured softly, “you 
have the prettiest eyes of any girl I know.” 

Chicken Little caught the touch of malice in his 
tone and shot an indignant glance at him from the 
aforesaid eyes. 

Sherm laughed delightedly. “Chicken Little, you 
don’t need to tell me what’s the matter with you — 
I know.” 

Chicken Little shot another indignant glance. 
“There isn’t anything the matter except what I 


286 Chicken Little Jane 

told you — of course, it wasn’t anything really — 
on-ly ” 

“Yes, there is, Chicken Little, that was only a 
symptom.” 

“Stop your fooling.” 

“Don’t you want me to tell you?” 

“No!” 

“Bet you do — honest, don’t you?” 

“I haven’t the least curiosity — so you can just 
stop teasing.” Jane was positively dignified. 

“Well, I’m going to tell you, whether you want 
to hear it or not. You’re growing up, Chicken Lit- 
tle, that’s what’s the matter with our little feelings. 
But don’t forget you promised to give me part of 
Ernest’s place this winter. It was a bargain, wasn’t 
it?” Sherm reached over and took possession of 
her busy fingers. “Wasn’t it? Chicken Little Jane, 
wasn’t it?” 

Jane looked at this new and astonishing Sherm and 
nodded shyly. 

Sherm gathered up her books with a laugh. 
“Come on, your mother wants you.” 

“She does not — and I’m going to sit here till I 
make a grass basket for Jilly.” 

* * * * * * 

September and October slipped away quietly, 
their warm, hazy days gay with turning leaves and 
spicily fragrant with the drying vegetation and ripen- 


School 287 

ing fruits. Chicken Little found school under Mr. 
Clay unwontedly interesting. He departed from 
the regulation mixture of three parts study and one 
part recitation and tried to lead his pupils’ thoughts 
out into the world a little. Indeed, some of his in- 
novations were regarded with suspicion by certain 
fathers and mothers in the district. When he ad- 
vised his advanced history class to read historical 
novels and Shakespeare in connection with their work, 
there was much shaking of heads. But when he took 
advantage of the coming election to waken an inter- 
est in politics, the district board waited on him. If 
the visit of the school board silenced Mr. Clay, it 
dkl not discourage his charges, and partisanship ran 
high. The favorite method of boosting one’s candi- 
dates being to write their names on the blackboard 
at recesses and noons, and then stand guard to pre- 
vent the opposing faction from erasing them. 

The fun grew furious. The Mortons were 
staunch Republicans, and Chicken Little strove val- 
iantly to write “Garfield and Arthur” earlier and 
oftener than the Democrats, led by Grant Stowe and 
Mamie Price, could replace them with “Hancock and 
English.” 

Grant was the biggest and strongest and bossiest 
lad in school. His favorite method of settling the 
enemy was to pick them up bodily and set them out- 
side the school house door while he rubbed out their 


288 Chicken Little Jane 

ticket. Or better still, to hold the door while Mamie 
or some other democrat turned the entire front 
board into a waving sea of ‘‘Hancocks and Eng- 
lishes. ” 

The Republicans were in the lead as to numbers, 
but they were mostly the younger children. But few 
of the older boys could be spared from the farm 
work to enter school so early in the fall. So Chicken 
Little captained her side, aided by quiet suggestions 
from Mr. Clay who did not wish to take sides 
openly. 

Many were the ruses employed to capture the 
blackboards. Jane stayed one evening after school 
to have things ready for the morrow, but, alas, Grant 
Stowe was in the habit of waiting to walk a piece 
home with her. He waited down the road till he 
grew suspicious, and, coming back, caught her in the 
act. 

He took swift revenge, none too generously, by 
forcing her to erase every line, then rubbed it in by 
guiding her hand to make her write the names of the 
opposition candidates. Despite all Chicken Little’s 
struggles, he persisted until the hated names were 
finished in writing that decidedly resembled crow 
tracks, but could be read by anyone having sufficient 
patience. 

Chicken Little was furious but helpless. Mr. Clay 
had gone home early in order to drive into town 


School 289 

that evening. Grant treated her anger as a good 
joke. She finally wrenched her hand loose and gave 
him a resounding smack across the cheek, that made 
her tormentor’s face tingle. 

It was Grant’s turn to be vexed now. He caught 
her arm and twisted it till she winced. “Say you’re 
sorry!” 

“I won’t!” 

Grant turned the supple wrist a twist farther. 
“Now, will you?” 

“No sir, not if you twist till you break it — I won’t ! 
I’m not going to be bullied!” 

Grant began to be afraid she meant what she 
said. But his pride would not let him give in to a 
girl. “All right, little stubborn, I’ll kiss you till 
you do.” 

As Grant loosened his hold on her wrist, Jane 
jerked away and fled toward the door in a panic. 
She was more than half afraid of Grant in this 
humor — and then her promise to Ernest. 

“Oh, dear, I knew better than to do that, but he 
made me so mad!” she mourned. 

Grant was close upon her. She fairly hurled her- 
self out the door and most unexpectedly bumped 
into Sherm, who caught her in time to save her cata- 
pulting down the steps. 

“Save the pieces, Chicken Little, what’s your 
hurry?” 


Chicken Little Jane 


290 

“O Sherm, — oh, I’m so glad you came — I ” 

Before she could finish Grant reached the door, 
stopping short on seeing Sherm. 

Jane clutched Sherm’s arm tight. “Don’t let him, 
please don’t let him !” 

Her words were not entirely dear, but Sherm 
promptly shoved her behind him and confronted 
Grant angrily. 

“Big business you’re in, frightening girls — you 
bully!” 

Sherm had taken a dislike to Grant that evening 
at Mamie’s and exulted in this opportunity to pick 
a quarrel. Grant was equally ready. He scorned 
explanations and replied by pulling oft his coat. 
Sherm swiftly peeled his also. Chicken Little was 
alarmed by these warlike preparations. 

“Don’t, boys, don’t! I guess it was part my fault, 
Sherm. Grant didn’t mean any harm. We were 
scrapping over the election and ” 

“I don’t care whether it was your fault or not, 
Jane. If Grant doesn’t know enough to be a gentle- 
man, it’s time he learned.” 

Sherm sprang forward and the boys clinched. 
They were pretty evenly matched. Grant out- 
weighed Sherm, but the latter was quicker and had 
had some training in wrestling. This was the popu- 
lar method of settling quarrels, boxing not having 
come into vogue. Inside of three minutes both were 


School 


291 

down, rolling over the ground an indiscriminate, 
writhing heap of arms and legs. 

Chicken Little was utterly dismayed. She didn’t 
want either of the boys hurt, but they heeded her 
remonstrances no more than if she had been a mos- 
quito. She even tried pulling at the one who came 
uppermost, but they both pantingly warned her off. 
Chicken Little set her jaw firmly. She flew into the 
school house to the water bench, and seizing the 
water bucket, flew out. Pausing long enough to take 
good aim, she dashed its contents over the boys’ 
heads with all her might. 

Grant being underneath at the moment, with lips 
parted from his exertions, received the full force of 
the water in his mouth and nose, and nearly strangled 
from the dose. Sherm had to let him up and apply 
first aid to help him recover his breath — the lad was 
purple. When he began to breathe readily once 
more, both boys got to their feet, glaring reproach- 
fully at Chicken Little. Each was restrained by 
the presence of the other from expressing forcibly 
his opinion of the young lady. The heroine was in 
wrong with both the villain and the hero. However, 
the heroine did not care. 

“You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves, 
both of you — fighting like a pair of kids. I wish you 
could see yourselves ! You look exactly like drowned 
rats !” 


292 Chicken Little Jane 

The lads could not not see themselves, but they 
could see each other, and the exhibit was con- 
vincing. Sherm’s mouth puckered into its crooked 
smile. 

“Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, Chicken 
Little, it’s all right with me. So long, Grant.” 

Sherm picked up his coat and cap and set off, leav- 
ing Jane to follow or linger as she saw fit. She 
turned to Grant. 

“I didn’t mean to get you into trouble, Grant.” 

“Don’t mention it, and, truly — I didn’t intend to 
frighten you, Chicken Little. I guess you aren’t like 
most of the girls on the Creek — I didn’t suppose 
you’d take it that way. Good-bye, Sherm,” he 
called. Grant also picked up his belongings and 
departed. 

Chicken Little rescued the water pail and carried 
it into the school house. She secured her hat and 
lunch basket, and was starting for the door when a 
wonderful idea buzzed in her brain. Slipping to the 
window she glanced out. Grant was striding rap- 
idly off up the road. She ran to the board and 
hastily erased that hateful “Hancock and English” 
and as hastily wrote the names of the other presi- 
dential candidates in letters a foot high across the 
front board, underlining them heavily and putting 
hands pointing toward them on each of the side 
boards. This done, she locked the school house 


School 


293 

door, as she had promised Mr. Clay, and, taking the 
key over to a neighbor’s a few rods away, joyously 
departed homeward. 

Sherm was not in sight when she started. A 
little farther down the hill she saw him waiting be- 
side a haystack. He had evidently been watching 
to make sure she did not get into further trouble. 
He walked briskly on as soon as he caught sight of 
her. 

Young Mr. Dart looked a trifle sulky at supper 
that evening. Chicken Little tried to attract his at- 
tention in various ways without success. Sherm was 
resolved to ignore her. Finally, she addressed him 
directly. 

“Won’t you please pass the water, Sherm?” she 
asked with exaggerated meekness. 

Sherm grinned in spite of himself. The other 
members of the family looked at Jane inquiringly. 
Jane, having received the water, ate her supper in 
profound silence. 

He came on her unexpectedly down by the spring 
a little later. It was growing dark and he did not 
see her until he was almost beside her. He hesitated 
a moment, then joined her. She glanced up de- 
murely. 

He regarded her an instant in complete silence. 
Chicken Little tossed her head. 


294 Chicken Little Jane 

Sherm came a step closer and Jane prepared to 
fly if necessary, but Sherm contented himself with 
staring at her till he made her drop her eyes. 

“You mischievous witch, I’d like to shake you 
hard!” 



The prairies were brown — a dead, crisp brown, as 
if they had been baked by hot suns through long, 
rainless days and nipped by a whole winter of killing 
frosts. 

“I don’t understand why the grass is so dry by the 
middle of November,” said Dr. Morton. “Of 
course the summer was pretty dry, but then we had 
rains in September.” 

“Yes, Father,” Frank replied, “but there has been 
less rainfall for the past two years than Kansas has 
known for a decade. I imagine the ground is baked 
underneath on the prairies, and the rains only helped 
for a time.” 

“Well, whatever caused it, we shall have to feed 
earlier than usual. I am afraid we may have some 
295 


2q6 Chicken Little Jane 

bad fires, too, if we don’t have rain or a snowfall 
soon.” 

“There was a fire over on Elm Creek night be- 
fore last,” spoke up Sherm. “Grant Stowe’s cousin 
was telling us about it at school.” 

“I saw smoke off to the north yesterday,” said 
Chicken Little. 

“Oh, I hope we sha’n’t have any bad fires this 
fall!” exclaimed Mrs. Morton. “I do think a big 
prairie fire is one of the most terrifying sights, espe- 
cially at night. I couldn’t sleep that first fall 
for dreading them. I used to get up in the mid- 
dle of the night and look out the windows to 
see if that awful glare was anywhere on the hori- 
zon.” 

“Don’t go borrowing trouble, Mother. There 
hasn’t been a bad fire on Big John for years. The 
country is so thickly settled a fire doesn’t have the 
sweep it used to.” Dr. Morton tried to reassure 
her. 

“They must be wonderful things to see. I hope 
there won’t be any bad ones, but if one shows up 
anywhere within ten miles, I propose to be on hand,” 
Sherm said eagerly. 

“You won’t be so keen after you have fought one 
or two, Sherm.” Frank smiled with the wisdom of 
the initiated. “Say, Father, I think Jim and I had 
better fire round those stacks on the north eighty. 


The Prairie Fire 297 

It would be hard to save them if a fire got started 
on the divide.” 

“Yes, I don’t know but you’d best do it this after- 
noon. Burn a pretty wide strip. And we ought to 
run a guard on the west from that field of winter 
wheat to the county road. If a fire ever got in there, 
it might come down on the house.” 

Chicken Little spoke up. “May I go, too, Frank? 
I love to watch you.” 

“You will be in school, but you can come home 
that way if we are still at work. You can easily see 
the smoke. We won’t try it if the wind rises, and I 
believe it is going to.” 

“Chicken Little, if you see the smoke you may tell 
Mr. Clay I won’t come for my recitation this after- 
noon. I am going to find out how this back-firing 
business is done.” 

Sherm had begun his studies some two weeks pre- 
vious and was making rapid progress, studying even- 
ings, and going to the school a half hour before clos- 
ing time to recite. 

Chicken Little found this arrangement extremely 
pleasant, because Sherm was always there to walk 
home with her. They took all sorts of detours 
and by-paths through the woods, instead of com- 
ing along the road to the ford. They discovered 
unexpected stores of walnuts and acorns and 
wild rose hips, and scarlet bitter-sweet just 


298 Chicken Little Jane 

opening its gorgeous berries after the first hard 
frosts. 

Jane helped Sherm press autumn leaves and pack 
a huge box of nuts to send home. His mother wrote 
back that his father hadn’t showed as much interest 
in anything for weeks, as he did in the nuts. They 
seemed to carry him back to his own boyhood. 

Mr. Dart seldom left his bed now, and Sherm’s 
mother told but little of his condition. Sherm under- 
stood her silence only too well. Chicken Little no- 
ticed that he always worked hard and late the days 
he heard from home. She began to watch for the 
letters herself, and to mount guard over the boy 
when he looked specially downcast, teasing him into 
going for a gallop or wheedling him into making 
taffy or playing a game of checkers. She got so she 
recognized Sherm’s blue devils as far off as she could 
see him. 

Sherm did not notice this for some time or sus- 
pect she was looking after him, but one day he re- 
marked carelessly when she thought she had been 
specially clever: 

“Chicken Little, don’t make a mollycoddle of me. 
A man has to learn to take what comes his way with- 
out squealing.” 

“Yes, Sherm, but if you get thorns in your hand, 
it’s better to try to pull them out than to go on 
pushing them in deeper, isn’t it? I know when I was 


The Prairie Fire 299 

a kid, it always helped a lot to have Mother kiss it 
better.’’ 

“How’d you get so wise, Chicken Little?” The 
lad smiled his wry smile. 

“Don’t make fun of me, please, Sherm.” 

“Make fun of you? Lady Jane, I’ve been taking 
off my hat to you for a week. How in the dickens 
you girls find out exactly what’s going on inside a 
chap beats my time. It’s mighty good of you to put 
up with my glooming and try to cheer me along. 
Maybe I don’t look grateful, but I am.” Sherm 
was eager to make this acknowledgment, but found 
it more trying than he had anticipated. He re- 
venged himself by starting in to tease. 

“Say, I wish you’d try your hand at this splinter 
— I can’t budge the critter.” 

Jane flew for a needle, unsuspecting. The splin- 
ter didn’t look serious, but she painstakingly dug it 
out. 

“Is that all right?” she demanded, looking 
up to encounter a wicked glint in Sherm’s gray 
eyes. 

“Hm-n, aren’t you going to put any medicine on 
it?” 

“Medicine?” 

“Well, you know you said it helped.” Sherm was 
grinning impishly. 

“Sherman Dart, I think you’re too mean for 


300 Chicken Little Jane 

words!” She was about to turn away affronted 
when she had an inspiration. 

“Mother,” she called, “O Mother!’’ 

Mrs. Morton had been placidly sewing in the sit- 
ting room while the young people were studying their 
lessons by the dining-room table. She came to the 
door, inquiring. 

“Mother, Sherm’s had a splinter in his finger and 
he wants you to kiss it better.” 

Sherm started to protest, but Mrs. Morton did 
not stop to listen. 

“Jane, I think that kind of a joke is very ill-timed, 
making your poor mother get up and come to you 
for nothing. You must remember I am not as young 
as I once was.” 

Mrs. Morton departed with dignity. 

“Now will you be good?” chuckled Sherm. 

“Oh, I guess I’m square,” Chicken Little retorted, 
going back to her lessons. 

Mrs. Morton had said truly that she was not so 
young as formerly. She had not been well all fall. 
Dr. Morton had persuaded her to see another physi- 
cian, who, having assured her that she was merely 
run down, had prescribed the usual tonic. He had 
told Dr. Morton, however, that her heart action was 
weak and warned him to guard her against shocks 
of any kind and to have her rest as much as possible. 
This had agreed with the doctor’s own diagnosis of 


The Prairie Fire 301 

her condition, and the family had been trying to 
save her from all exertion. So Chicken Little was 
a tiny bit conscience-stricken. 

High winds and more pressing farm duties had 
interfered with running the fire guards. It was not 
until the week before Thanksgiving that the men got 
at it, then they succeeded only in protecting the 
stacks. They had intended to finish the job the fol- 
lowing morning, but one of the neighbors, passing 
through the lane, stopped to tell Dr. Morton of a 
sale of yearlings to be held the next afternoon In the 
neighboring county. 

“It must be part of the Elliott herd. They’re 
three-quarters bred shorthorn; I’d like mighty well 
to pick up a bunch of them. We have plenty of feed 
for any ordinary winter.” Dr. Morton was talking 
the matter over with Frank after supper. 

“Suppose we ride over, Father, it’s only about 
twenty miles. We can start early — we don’t need 
to buy unless they are actually a bargain.” 

They were off at six the following morning, plan- 
ning to return the same day. Dr. Morton, however, 
warned his wife not to be anxious if she did not see 
them before the next afternoon. If they bought the 
steers, they would not try to drive them home the 
same day. 

The morning was bright and pleasant, but the 
wind rose toward mid-day and was blowing a young 


302 Chicken Little Jane 

gale by the time Chicken Little returned from school 
at half-past four. Mrs. Morton began worrying 
lest the doctor and Frank had not wrapped up suf- 
ficiently. 

“Why, it isn’t cold yet, Mrs. Morton. In fact, it 
is astonishingly warm for November. And there s 
the queerest, yellowish haze I have ever seen. 
Sherm said this to reassure her. 

“Probably dust,” replied Mrs. Morton carelessly, 
relieved from her anxiety about her family. 

Chicken Little hurried through her supper and 
went over to see Marian. Presently Marian threw 
a shawl over her head and they both climbed the hill 
back of the house. The wind was still blowing 
fiercely. Sherm saw them on the ridge and followed 
to see what was tempting them to a stroll on such 
a night. 

“What’s up?” 

Marian answered. “Why, Jane thinks all this yel- 
low haze comes from a prairie fire. We’ve been 
trying to see if we could see any trace of it. It 
seems to me I do smell smoke — there’s a kind of 
pungent tang to the air, too.” Marian sniffed un- 
easily. 

“Like burning grass or leaves?” 

Marian’s face paled. “Sherm, that’s exactly what 
it is! What can we do? And the menfolks all away 
except Jim Bart, and he’s gone to Benton’s on an 


The Prairie Fire 303 

errand. He’ll be back in a few minutes though.” 

“Don’t worry, Marian,” said Jane, “if it’s a 
prairie fire it’s miles and miles off. It must be on 
the other side of Little John. It can never cross the 
creek — besides, the wind is blowing the wrong way 
for it to sweep down on us.” 

That’s so — but the wind might change any min- 
ute, and in a gale like this I’m not so sure it might 
not jump Little John. I do wish Frank had finished 
that back-firing.” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t be possible to do it until 
the wind lulls, but Mrs. Morton, I’ll sit up and watch 
to-night — at least until the wind goes down. It often 
falls about midnight,” said Sherm, looking troubled. 

“It looks to me as if we were in for a three-days’ 
blow,” Marian replied despondently. “But I’d be 
much obliged if you would, Sherm, I don’t quite like 
to ask Jim Bart to, for he’s had such a hard day. 
Do you think you can keep awake? And, Chicken 
Little, don’t let on to Mother — we mustn’t worry 
her.” 

“Sherm,” said Jane, after they went into the 
house, “I’m going to stay up, too; I’ll slip down 
again after Mother goes to bed. It’s a lot easier 
for two people to keep awake than one.” 

“No, Chicken Little, I don’t believe you’d better. 
Your mother wouldn’t like it. And we’d be dead 
sure to laugh or talk loud enough for her to hear 


304 Chicken Little Jane 

us. I hope the wind will go down early. If it 
doesn’t and I find I can’t stay awake, I’ll call you 
and let you watch while I doze on the couch 
here.” 

Jane stayed up as late as her mother would let 
her, and Sherm made the excuse of having special 
studying to do, to sit up later. After Mrs. Morton 
had retired he made frequent excursions to the hill 
top. A lurid glare lit up the horizon to the north- 
west. He could still catch the tang of smoke and 
whiffs of burning grass, but these were not so pun- 
gent as earlier in the evening. The fire seemed 
farther away. By eleven, the glare was decidedly 
fainter and the wind had subsided noticeably. At 
twelve, he concluded it was safe to go to bed. 

Chicken Little waking about two, stole down stairs 
and finding everything dark, made the rounds of the 
windows, but the distant fire showed only a faint 
glow in the night. 

When they arose the next morning there was no 
trace of the fire to be seen. Sherm hailed some men 
passing, for news. They reported that it had swept 
the north side of Elm Creek and said it had burned 
up a lot of hay. There was a rumor that two of the 
upland farmers had lost everything they had and 
that a man and team had been caught in it. But they 
hadn’t been able to get any details. 

“Though it wouln’t be surprising,” one of the 


The Prairie Fire 


305 

strangers added, “that fire was traveling faster than 
any horse could run.” 

Chicken Little had come out and was standing 
beside Sherm. Her eyes grew big. “Do they really 
think somebody got burned?” 

One of the men nudged the man who had spoken. 

“No, Sis, it was just a rumor — I don’t low it was 
true. When folks can’t give you any name or place 
— it most generally ain’t so.” 

The men drove on. 

It was Saturday. Jim Bart had gone down to 
town for the weekly supplies and Sherm was busy 
with odd jobs. He asked Jane to go up to the hill 
top occasionally to make sure there were no fresh 
signs of the fire, though Jim Bart had assured him 
the danger was over. Sherm noticed that the wind 
had changed. It was blowing freshly from the very 
direction where they had seen the fire the preceding 
night. 

Chicken Little obediently made trips once an hour 
until noon; she could detect nothing to occasion 
alarm. After dinner her mother set her to making 
doughnuts and she forgot all about it. 

Mrs. Morton was not so well to-day and Jane 
persuaded her to go to bed. Drawing the blinds to, 
she put a hot iron to her mother’s feet and left her 
to sleep. The clock striking four attracted Jane’s 
attention as she came back into the sitting room, the 


306 Chicken Little Jane 

last doughnut was draining in the collender while 
Annie mopped the kitchen floor. 

She stood irresolute for an instant, undecided 
whether to read or to fetch some walnuts from the 
smokehouse for Sunday. Dr. Morton always liked 
to have a basket of walnuts handy on Sunday after- 
noons. “I guess I’ll get the nuts, and perhaps I’d 
better run up the hill to be sure that old fire hasn’t 
had a change of heart. Father says often some 
little side fire smoulders and burns after the main 
fire is all out. Though I guess one would have 
showed up long before this if there’d been any this 
time.” 

She argued with herself for two or three minutes, 
finally deciding that it wasn’t much trouble to go 
take a look, even if it were foolish. Just outside the 
door she met Sherm and he walked up to the crest 
with her. 

Half way up the slope Chicken Little suddenly 
stopped, sniffing suspiciously. “Sherm, I believe I 
smell smoke again.” 

Sherm stopped also to draw in a long breath. He 
did not wait to announce his observations, but broke 
into a run for the top of the hill. Chicken Little fol- 
lowed him a length in the rear. Sherm took one 
look and gave vent to a surprised whistle. Chicken 
Little stared, fascinated, at a tiny line of fire burn- 
ing merrily on a hillside not a mile distant. 


The Prairie Fire 


307 

“Jumping Jehosophat !” exclaimed Sherm, “how 
did it ever creep up on us this way?” 

Jane was thinking rapidly. She scarcely noticed 
what he said. 

“Sherm, Frank left the water barrels and the 
mops and everything on the wagon, didn’t he?” 

“Yes— what ” 

“Are the barrels filled?” 

“Yep, do you think ” 

“Sherm, run hitch the bay team to the wagon 
quick. I’ll get Marian and warn Annie not to 
tell Mother — she’s asleep still. Hurry, Sherm, 
every minute’s precious!” 

Sherm’s “All right” drifted from him on the run. 
He was already on his way to the stable. He real- 
ized that Jane knew more about fire fighting than he 
did. 

Jane hurried to the cottage. Marian listened to 
her news, white to the lips. 

“Annie can take Jilly. Perhaps I’d better ride 
over after Mr. Benton.” 

“Marian,” protested Chicken Little, “there isn’t 
time. And if Mr. Benton’s home, he has probably 
seen it, too, and is trying to protect his own place. 
No, we’ve got to work fast. Unless we can run a 
fire guard before the fire reaches that tall grass on 
the division line, the whole place is a goner! It 
isn’t coming very fast yet. Here, I’ll run with Jilly 


308 Chicken Little Jane 

over to the house and you put on a pair of Frank’s 
trousers — your skirts might catch. I’ll get that old 
pair of Ernest’s. Hurry, Marian, hurry!” 

Chicken Little gathered up Jilly and started on 
the run. 

Both Marian and Jane reached the stable yard 
just as Sherm drove the heavy farm wagon clatter- 
ing out of the gate. They hurriedly climbed in and 
Sherm lashed the horses into a gallop. As they 
passed the cottage, Marian exclaimed: “Did you 
get matches either of you?” 

Sherm slowed up the team and examined his pock- 
ets. 

“A handful.” 

“Stop a moment — I’ll run fetch a box. It takes a 
lot.” Chicken Little was over the wheel before the 
words were fairly out of her mouth. 

She was back in a jiffy with the matches, which 
she proceeded to divide among them, while the 
horses leaped forward again. 

“Stop on the backbone where the Santa Fe trail 
strikes the road.” 

Precisely four minutes later Sherm pulled up 
the panting team. Chicken Little promptly took 
command. She had been 'out many times with 
her father and brothers and knew exactly what to 
do. 

“Wet your mop — take a bucket of water and fire 


The Prairie Fire 


309 

right along the trail, Marian, — that buffalo grass 
burns slow. Call if it starts to get away from you. 
I’ll begin there by the hedge. Drive about fifty 
yards farther on, Sherm, — the horses will stand. 
Fill all the buckets and wet the extra mops. We’re 
liable to want them in a rush.” 

“All right, Jane, save your breath — you’ll need 
it. Careful there, Mrs. Morton, beat out the flames 
along the trail as you go. Never mind how fast it 
whoops the other way. Caesar’s ghost! that fire is 
getting close!” 

The waving, irregular lines of flame on the hill- 
side were coming steadily on, now leaping up several 
feet high as the breeze freshened, now creeping close 
to the ground when the gusts died away. The wind 
was fitful. 

Marian and Sherm both had their trail of fire 
flickering into a blaze before Chicken Little got hers 
kindled. Her hands shook so she could hardly hold 
the match. The first flickered and went out, a sec- 
ond, then a third, blackened, before she could coax 
the stubbly grass to burn. She caught up a bunch of 
weeds, set it blazing in her hand and dragged it 
swiftly along the ground. Tiny swirls of yellow 
flame wavered in her wake, crackled feebly for an 
instant in the shorter herbage, then, reaching out 
tongues into the longer blue stem beyond, leaped 
forward like a frolicsome animal. Sherm’s and 


310 Chicken Little Jane 

Marian’s lines of fire were eating their way merrily 
toward hers on each side. 

It was easy to beat out the flame in the Buffalo 
grass, which formed their safety line toward the 
house, and the three soon had several hundred feet 
of fire running to meet those menacing flames on 
the neighboring hillside. For a while it seemed 
almost pretty play save for that haunting dread of 
disaster. But the dripping mops were heavy for 
girls’ wrists and arms, the constant stooping and ris- 
ing and the lifting of the heavy buckets pulled pain- 
fully on aching muscles. They must backfire for a 
third of a mile before they dared hope the place 
was safe. 

A field of winter wheat adjoining the wagon road 
where they had started, and extending down to the 
bank of Big John, was the best of protection to the 
lower half of the farm. West from this, there was 
neither track nor field to break the tindery sweeps 
of prairie grass, until the strip of breaking on the 
north boundary of the pasture was reached. The 
old Santa Fe trail along which they were firing, for- 
tunately extended to within some two hundred yards 
of the breaking, and was their safeguard against the 
ever-present danger of letting the fire get away from 
them to the rear. 

Older heads would have selected that hundred 
yards of high grass as a starting place, while they 


The Prairie Fire 


311 

were fresh and best able to cope with its perils. 
Chicken Little was leaving it to the last. Swiftly as 
the three worked, the head fire was rapidly gaining 
on them. Again and again, one of them glanced 
toward the house in the hope that Jim Bart might 
have returned, or some neighbor have seen their 
danger and be on the way to help. Not a human 
being was in sight in any direction. 

Marian straightened up with a groan and glanced 
despairingly at the head fire. Sherm’s gaze fol- 
lowed hers anxiously. 

“We’ve got to do better than this, girls. Here, 
Chicken Little, make a torch of some of those resin- 
ous weeds — those long crackly ones — and fire just 
as fast as you can. I’ll follow with the mop and 
yell if I can’t manage it.” 

The plan worked well for a time — their haven of 
hope, the brown strip of breaking, seemed to move 
steadily nearer. But Chicken Little and Marian 
were fast becoming exhausted. The main fire was 
now so close that its smoke was beginning to drift 
in their faces. Prairie chickens and quail, startled 
and confused by the double line of flame, whirred 
above their heads, uncertain how to seek safety. A 
terrified jack rabbit leaped up almost at Sherm’s feet. 
Rabbits, ground squirrels, one lone skunk, and even 
an occasional coyote, darted past them. Back at the 
road where they had begun, the head fire was already 


Chicken Little Jane 


312 

meeting their line of back fire and dying down in 
sullen smoke. Still, that hundred yards of blue 
stem was untouched. 

They paused a moment at its edge in hurried con- 
sultation. 

“Let’s souse all the mops — dripping wet — and 
trail across first,” suggested Chicken Little in short, 
labored gasps. She had been running for several 
minutes. 

“Yes, and then fire back. Christ! — we must 
hurry!” Sherm, too, was breathless. “Can you 
stick it out a few minutes longer, Marian?” 

Marian Morton’s face was drawn and colorless. 
She nodded and rested a moment, leaning on her 
mop. 

For the next sixty-five yards the blows of the wet 
mops rained down with the precision of clock work. 
Twice the flames started in quick eddies back of their 
line, but, panting, the girls almost sobbing, they beat 
them back. The smoke was growing stifling. The 
wind, freshening, blew it from both fires full in their 
faces. They could see only a few feet ahead. 

“Light another torch and run, Chicken Little — 
there’s no time to lose — we must chance it!” 

Chicken Little obeyed silently. Half way to the 
breaking she stumbled and fell. Her torch of 
twisted grass flew from her hand, scattering the 
burning fragments about her. Before she could get 


The Prairie Fire 313 

to her feet, the grass was ablaze all around. Quick- 
witted Sherm threw her a mop, then beat his way 
toward her. Marian, summoning her last remain- 
ing strength, ran to help, but sank to the ground in 
a faint before she could reach Jane. 

Sherm and Chicken Little, beating, stamping 
madly, did not see her fall. The flames fairly licked 
up the long grass. They beat them out around Jane 
only to see them spread in an ever-increasing circle. 
Chicken Little’s legs gave way under her and she 
sank helplessly down, watching the rushing fire. 
Sherm struggled on with parched throat and stinging 
eyes, but he, too, was fast becoming exhausted in the 
unequal fight, when a strong pair of hands seized 
the mop from his straining arms and rained swift 
blows on the flaming grass. Answering blows re- 
sounded from four other stout pairs of hands and an 
irregular line of charred vegetation was soon all 
that was left to tell the tale of the danger they had 
escaped. 

“Thank God, we got here in time!” Captain 
Clarke ejaculated fervently, raising Marian’s head 
and dashing water in her face to restore her. 

“We’re so shut in by the timber at our place, I 
didn’t dream the fire was in this part of the country 
till one of the hands went up in the pasture. We 
mounted and came double quick, I tell you. And 
we’d have got here quicker, if I’d known what straits 


Chicken Little Jane 


3H 

you were in. You’re a plucky lot ! Easy there, Mrs. 
Morton, you are all right, and the fire is safe to 
smoke out at its leisure. Here, drink a drop of this 
whiskey.” 

Sherm had gathered up Chicken Little and car- 
ried her beyond the smoke, then dropped down be- 
side her with a sigh to recover his breath. He felt 
numb and so dazed he hardly heeded what the Cap- 
tain was saying. 

“Pretty well done for, yourself, aren’t you, lad?” 
one of the men inquired. “You sure knew exactly 
what to do, if you are a tenderfoot.” 

Sherm roused himself enough to twist the corners 
of his mouth into his wonted smile. 

“Me? I didn’t do anything — Chicken Little was 
the boss of this gang.” 




(hApter. XVII $ 
TrElQST OYSTER SIPPER 


Thanksgiving came and went its turkey-lined way 
rather lonesomely. Christmas preparations also 
lacked their usual zest. 

“Everything seems to have caved in round where 
Ernest was,” Chicken Little confided to Marian. 
“You see, we always talked everything over and 
planned our Christmas together. Sherm takes Er- 
nest’s place in lots of ways, but, of course, he isn’t 
interested in what I’m making for Mother, or in 
helping me make $5.25 go clear round the family 
and piece out for Katy and Gertie besides.” 

“If sympathy is all you need, Jane, I can lend 
you a listening ear.” Marian crochetted another 
scallop. 

“I’d be thankful for a few suggestions, too, I 
can’t think of anything to send Ernest. When he 
315 


3 16 Chicken Little Jane 

has to have everything regulation, and the govern- 
ment furnishes him with every single thing it wants 
him to have, why — it’s awful.” 

“Yes, I agree with you — I’ve been racking my 
brains for Ernest, too. Mother is patiently knitting 
him a muffler, which I know he won’t be permitted 
to wear, but I haven’t the heart to discourage her — 
she gets so much comfort out of it. Uncle Sam 
should be more considerate of fond female relatives. 
He might at least tolerate a few tidies and hand- 
painted shovels or a home-made necktie.” 

“Or a throw or a plush table cover with chenille 
embroidery. Mamie Jenkins is making one for Mr. 
Clay. He will be too cross for words. He loathes 
Mamie, though he tries not to show it, and plush is 
his special abomination. He says it reminds him of 
caterpillar’s fuzz.” Chicken Little’s eyes danced 
maliciously. 

Marian looked at her young sister-in-law medi- 
tatively. 

“Mamie doesn’t seem to be dear to your heart 
just now. Is she too popular or too affected or too 
dressy?” 

“Oh, she’s just too utterly too too all around. I 
do have lots of fun with her — she can be awfully 
nice when she wants to be, but ” 

“But?” 

“Oh, I don’t know — she swells up so, lots of times 


The Lost Oyster Supper 3 1 7 

over things I’d be ashamed to tell — they’re so silly.” 

a Yes, I guess Mamie’s pretty cheap, but as long 
as you make friends with her, don’t rap her behind 
her back. It was all right to tell me — I quizzed you 
anyhow. I wish you didn’t see so much of her.” 

“Why, she’s the only girl at school I can go with, 
who is anywhere near my own age. The Kearns 
twins aren’t even clean — I don’t like to go near 
them.” 

“I shouldn’t think you would. Our public school 
system has its drawbacks as well as its virtues. Well, 
Jane, be nice to Mamie, but don’t — don’t be like 
her.” 

“You needn’t worry; she’s going to town to school 
after Christmas, so I sha’n’t see much more of her.” 

Mrs. Morton was still far from well, and she 
hung on Ernest’s letters almost pathetically. Er- 
nest, boy fashion, was inclined to write long letters 
when he had something interesting to tell and pre- 
serve a stony silence when he didn’t. Life at the 
academy was monotonous and he had to work hard 
to keep up with his studies. Further, his father and 
Frank suspected he was having many disagreeable 
experiences which he kept from his family. These 
were still the days of rough hazing at the academy 
and Ernest, being a western boy, big and strong and 
independent,' was likely to attract his full share of 
this unpleasant nagging. He revealed something 


3 18 Chicken Little Jane 

of his experiences in a letter to Sherm. Sherm 
showed the letter to Chicken Little and Chicken Lit- 
tle, vaguely worried, told her father. Dr. Morton 
talked it over with Frank. 

“There isn’t a thing you can do about it, Father. 
Most of it does the boys more good than harm any- 
way. I talked to a West Pointer once about the 
hazing there. He said some of it was pretty an- 
noying and at times decidedly rough, but that if a 
fellow behaved himself and took it good-naturedly 
they soon let him alone. He said it was the best 
training he had ever known for curing a growing boy 
of the big head. Don’t worry — Ernest has sense — 
he’s all right.” 

To Chicken Little, Ernest confided, two weeks be- 
fore Christmas, that he was getting confoundedly 
tired of having the same things to eat week after 
week. “Say, Sis, if you and Mother would cook me 
up a lot of goodies for Christmas, I’d like it better 
than anything you could do. Send lots, so I can 
treat — a turkey and fixings.” 

This letter did more for Mrs. Morton’s health 
than the doctor’s tonic. She tied on her apron and 
set to making fruit cake and cookies and every de- 
licious and indigestible compound she could think 
of that would stand packing and a four-days’ jour- 
ney. Chicken Little and Sherm spent their evenings 
making candy and picking out walnut meats to send. 


The Lost Oyster Supper 319 

Dr. Morton made the nine-mile trip to town on the 
coldest day of the season to insure Ernest’s getting 
the box on the very day before Christmas. 

The family at the ranch had a quiet holiday week. 
The day after New Year’s, Jane was invited to come 
to town and stay over night to attend an amateur 
performance of Fatinitza, a light opera the young 
people had staged for the benefit of a struggling 
musical society. Chicken Little was excitedly eager 
to go. Mrs. Morton deliberated for some time be- 
fore she gave her consent. Marian and Frank and 
Sherm all teased in her behalf, before it was won. 

Sherm drove her in, and Frank, having business in 
town the following day with a cattle buyer from Kan- 
sas City, volunteered to bring her home. Jane wore 
her Christmas present, a crimson cashmere with fine 
knife plaitings of crimson satin for its adorning. 
Frank lent her his sealskin cap and she felt very 
grand, and looked piquantly radiant, as she revolved 
for her mother’s inspection before slipping into her 
big coat. Sherm, standing waiting, inspected her, 
too. 

“Scrumptious, Lady Jane, you look like that red 
bird I’ve been trying to catch out in the evergreen by 
the gate.” 

Mrs. Morton shook her head disapprovingly. 
“No compliments, Sherm, Jane is just a little girl 
and she must remember that pretty is as pretty does. 


320 Chicken Little Jane 

Don’t forget, dear, to thank Mrs. Webb for her 
hospitality when you come away. Are you sure your 
ears are clean?” 

“Oh, Mother, I’m not a baby!” Chicken Little 
protested indignantly. “You talk as if I were about 
five years old.” 

“My dear daughter, your mother will speak to 
you as she sees fit. Have you got the high over- 
shoes? I think, perhaps, you’d better take Father’s 
muffler. Sherm, have you both buffalo robes?” 

Chicken Little relieved her feelings by making a 
little moue at Sherm. He winked discreetly in re- 
turn. 

“Why,” she said disgustedly after they were 
started, “won’t mothers ever let you grow up? I 
am a whole inch taller than Mother now, and half 
the time she treats me as if I didn’t have the sense 
of a chicken.” 

“Well, you see you’re the only girl in the family, 
and you’ve been the littlest chicken so long your 
mother kind of likes to shut her eyes to all those 
extra inches you’ve been collecting. By the way, 
Miss Morton, I don’t notice that muffler your mother 
mentioned, and I think you’ll be cold enough before 
we get to town to wish you had it.” 

“You don’t suppose I was going to wear that 
clumsy thing? I can snuggle down under the robes 
if I get cold.” 


The Lost Oyster Supper • 32 1 

“No, I didn’t suppose, so I brought the red scarf 
Mother gave me Christmas, for your ears. They’d 
be frosted sure without anything. Did you think 
your pride would keep you warm, Chicken Little?” 

Chicken Little was inclined to resent this delicate 
attention; Sherm seemed to be putting her in the 
same class her mother had. But her ears were al- 
ready beginning to tingle as they left the timber and 
got the full force of the wind on the open prairie. 
Sherm was swinging the bays along at a good pace. 
The cutter glided smoothly over the frozen snow. 
She submitted meekly while he awkwardly wrapped 
the muffler over her cap with his free hand. The 
soft wool was deliciously comfortable. She neg- 
lected, however, to mention this fact to him. 

“Too stubborn to own up, Lady Jane?” 

Jane stole a glance at the quizzical face turned in 
her direction. Then she evaded shamelessly. 

“Sherm, don’t you just adore to skate?” 
****** 

Chicken Little was in a pulsing state of excite- 
ment that evening as she listened to the pretty, lilting 
music and watched gorgeously clad young people, 
many of whom she recognized, moving demurely 
about the little stage. To others it was merely a 
very creditable amateur performance; to Chicken 
Little, it opened a whole new world of ideas and 
imagining. She had been to a theatre but twice in 


Chicken Little Jane 


322 

her whole life, once to Uncle Tom’s Cabin and once 
to a horrible presentation of Hamlet, which resulted 
in her disliking the play to the day of her death. 
She loved the light and color and harmony of it all. 
She delighted in it so much that she sighed because 
it would be so soon over. 

“What are you sighing for, Jane? Don’t you 
like it?” her hostess inquired. 

Chicken Little gave a little wriggle of joy. “Like 
it? I just love it — it’s like butterflies keeping house. 
Don’t you wish everything was like that — pretty and 
gay, with all the lovers getting things straightened 
out right?” 

“Dear me, Jane, do you get all that out of this 
poor little comic opera? I must have you come in 
to all our amateur things if you love music so.” 

“I don’t love music so very much — I hate to prac- 
tice. I shouldn’t care for their singing very much 
by itself, it’s seeing the actors and thinking how they 
feel — and their pretty clothes and ” 

Mrs. Webb laughed. 

“Chicken Little, I envy you — you are going to see 
so many things that most people shut their eyes to.” 

Jane studied about this, but she hardly liked to 
ask what things Mrs. Webb meant, because that 
lady seemed to expect her to know, and she felt she 
would appear stupid not to. She lay awake a long 
time that night; the music seemed to be splashing 


The Lost Oyster Supper 323 

over her in little waves of melody. Even after she 
had once fallen asleep, she awakened to find her 
brain still humming the insistent measures. The 
next morning she went downtown with her hostess 
and met Mamie Jenkins in a store. 

‘‘Why, Chicken Little, I didn’t know you were in 
town? Your brother didn’t say anything about your 
being here.” 

“Frank? Is he in already?” 

“Yes, I just saw him. Say, did you know a crowd 
of us are going out to his house to-night to an oyster 
supper?” 

“No, who’s going?” 

“Oh, a lot of the town boys and girls, and Grant 
Stowe and me. John Hardy asked him if a crowd 
of us couldn’t come out to-night and surprise your 
sister, and Frank said come along, he’d have some 
hot oysters for us. The boys have got a big bobsled 
from the livery stable. I bet we have a lovely time. 
Why don’t you and Sherm stay in and go out with 
us — I guess there’ll be room. Anyhow, you can al- 
ways crowd more into a bobsled, it’s more fun when 
you’re packed in.” 

Mamie giggled expressively. 

Jane was surprised to learn that Sherm had come 
in with Frank and she was also extremely doubtful 
whether her mother would approve of her waiting 
to come out with the party. John Hardy’s crowd 


324 Chicken Little Jane 

was one of the gayest in town and they were very 
much grown up. But her outing the previous even- 
ing had given her a taste for grown-up things; she 
was eager for the lark and resolved to tease Frank 
to let her stay in. 

Frank studied the matter for several minutes, but 
finally consented rather reluctantly. He saw Sherm 
was also keen for the fun. 

“All right, Sis, that set are pretty old for a kid 
like you and I’ll have a time squaring myself with 
Mother. But you don’t have many good times and 
Sherm’s steady enough to look after you. They are 
planning to start early. I guess you’ll get home by 
eight.” 

Frank left for the ranch about three o’clock to 
warn Marian of her surprise party. Mrs. Webb 
had insisted that Sherm stay with them for an early 
supper. The party had arranged to start at six. 
With a good team they should reach the ranch easily 
by eight, have two hours for merry-making, and get 
back to town by midnight. 

The cold had moderated through the day; by five 
o’clock, the sky was leaden gray and it looked like 
snow. Some of the fathers and mothers were doubt- 
ful as to whether they ought to risk so long a drive. 
But the weather was ideal, if it only didn’t snow, and 
there might not be another night during the holidays 
when they could all go. 


The Lost Oyster Supper 325 

The expedition had bad luck from the start. The 
livery man, disliking the weather prospects, had had 
an inferior team harnessed to the big sled. John 
Hardy and the other young men stood for their 
rights and after a long wrangle, succeeded in getting 
what they wanted. But this had consumed precious 
time. They drove out of the livery barn at six- 
thirty instead of six, as they had intended. Then 
two or three of the girls were not ready. One of 
the last called for, having sat with her wraps on for 
over three-quarters of an hour, had finally removed 
them and her party frock as well, in disgust, think- 
ing the jaunt had been given up on account of the 
weather. By the time she had dressed herself afresh 
it was a quarter past seven. There was still one 
young man to be picked up at the hotel. He, too, 
had grown tired of waiting and had started out to 
hunt the sleigh. Ten minutes more were consumed 
searching for him. The clock in the schoolhouse 
tower was striking the half hour as the sleigh load 
passed the last house in the little town, and turned 
into the country road leading to the ranch. 

Sherm pulled out his watch. “Whew, Frank and 
Marian will have a nice wait for us ! W^e can t pos- 
sibly make it till after nine.” 

The next two miles went with a dash. The moon- 
light was a dim gray half light instead of the silvery 
radiance they had counted upon. 


326 Chicken Little Jane 

“Those clouds must be beastly heavy — there is 
scarcely a star to be seen,” ejaculated John Hardy, 
who was on the driver’s seat with a sprightly girl of 
nineteen for his companion. “What’ll you bet the 
snow catches us before we get home to-night?” 

“I’ll bet you it catches us before we get out to 
Morton’s,” retorted one of the other young men. 

“Well, I’m glad I am taking my turn at driving 
going out, if that’s the case. I shouldn’t like the 
job of keeping the road on these prairies in a nice 
blinding snowstorm.” 

“Oh, that’s just because you’re a town dude,” 
said Grant Stowe boastfully. “It is just as easy to 
follow a country road as a street in town if you only 
know the country.” 

“All right, Grant, if it snows, we’ll let you drive 
home.” 

“If it snows?” exclaimed one of the girls. “I felt 
a flake on my nose this very minute.” 

The party surveyed the sky. 

“Oh, you are just dreaming, Kate.” 

“Somebody blew you a kiss and it cooled off on 
the way,” teased another. 

“Just wait a minute, smarties. There — there was 
another!” 

“Yes, I felt one, too!” exclaimed Mamie. 

“You’re right, it’s coming.” Sherm stared at the 
sky in some concern. 


The Lost Oyster Supper 327 

‘“Better whoop it right along, John,” advised one 
of the young men thoughtfully. 

“I am not so sure that we shouldn’t be sensible to 
turn round and call this frolic off for to-night,” John 
Hardy replied. 

There was a chorus of No’s. 

“Nonsense, who’s afraid of a little snow? Be- 
sides, we’d disappoint the Mortons and Jane’s 
mother would be frantic if she didn’t come. Don’t 
crawfish, John Hardy.” 

“I’m equal to anything the rest of you are. I 
merely thought it might be rough on the girls, and 
occasion some alarm to other fond relatives in town, 
If we failed to get back to-night.” 

“Oh, stop your croaking!” 

“There will be no trouble getting back.” 

“Of course not, the horses can find the way if 
we can’t.” 

“Here, start something to sing and shut off these 
ravens !” 

The crowd sang lustily for the next twenty 
minutes, then the snow began coming down 
steadily and the majority of the young people 
commenced to disappear under the robes and 
blankets. 

“The pesky stuff is getting inside my collar!” ex- 
claimed one of the men who had insisted upon keep- 
ing his head out. 


c 


Chicken Little Jane 


328 

“Why don’t you tear yourself from the scenery 
and come under cover?” asked Mamie pertly. 

“Yes, Smith, I’m only holding one of Mamie’s 
hands. You may keep the other warm.” 

“He’s not either. Don’t you believe him, Mr. 
Smith,” Mamie protested. 

John Hardy spoke to the girl beside him. He 
had been watching the road ahead too closely for 
several minutes to do any talking. 

“Hadn’t you better go back with the others — 
there’s no need for you to get wet and cold.” 

“Oh, I am all right — it isn’t cold — very.” 

“I am afraid it is going to be — the wind is rising 
and it’s coming right in our faces. We’re a pack of 
fools to go !” 

“We must be nearly half way there, aren’t we?” 

“I think so — I have never been out to the Morton 
ranch. Well, if worst comes to worst, I guess they’ll 
keep us all night.” 

The crowd was beginning to quiet down. By the 
time they had covered two more miles the wind was 
blowing the snow in their faces with stinging force. 
John Hardy was having trouble to keep the horses 
in the road. They, too, recoiled from the snow 
drifting in their faces. He finally persuaded his 
companion to go back under the robes. Sherm vol- 
unteered to take her place. 

“I don’t like the look of things,” said Hardy in 


The Lost Oyster Supper 329 

a low tone as Sherm climbed up beside him. “Can 
you tell where we are?” 

Sherm stared at the snow-covered waste ahead 
and tried to recognize some familiar land mark in the 
white gloom. 

“Yes, I think so. That was Elm Creek you 
crossed some time back. We must be about half 
way from Elm to Big John.” 

“How far now?” 

“Three miles.” 

“Can you see the time?” 

“Nine-twenty.” 

“The dickens, we ought to be there!” 

“It oughtn’t to be long now. Let me take the 
reins — your hands must be cold.” 

“Just a minute till I start the circulation. I feel 
sort of responsible for this gang, because I got up 
this fool enterprise.” Hardy clapped his hands to- 
gether vigorously. 

“It wouldn’t be bad except for the wind!” Hardy 
said presently. 

“That’s the worst of Kansas, there always is a 
wind!” Sherm had not yet been entirely converted 
to the charms of the sunflower state. 

When Hardy took the reins again, Sherm still 
peered ahead, watching the road. He had been find- 
ing something vaguely unfamiliar about the land- 
scape, though this was not strange since neither house 


Chicken Little Jane 


330 

nor tree nor haystack was visible through the storm 
until they were almost upon it. Then it loomed up 
suddenly shrouded and spectral. This feeling of 
strangeness grew upon him and he felt uneasy. 

a Stop the team a minute, Hardy.” Sherm got 
down and went to the horses’ heads, peering all 
about. He scraped the snow away with his foot and 
examined the ground. 

He let out a shrill whistle of dismay, as he un- 
covered grass spears instead of the hard-trodden 
road bed. 

“Say, Hardy, we’re off the road. I thought so 
from the way the sled was dragging.” 

Hardy climbed hastily down with an exclamation 
that sounded profane. The boys in the sleigh also 
piled hurriedly out. They soon assured themselves 
of the sorrowful fact. 

“What can we do?” 

“Isn’t there a house somewhere near where w r e 
can inquire?” 

“What did you fellows go to sleep for when you 
were driving, anyhow?” 

“You’ll have to go back on your tracks till you 
find the road again.” 

Questions and offers of advice were numerous. 

Sherm had walked a short distance back, explor- 
ing. He returned in time to hear this last remark. 

“The trouble is, Grant, the snow hasn’t left us 


The Lost Oyster Supper 331 

any tracks. Two hundred yards back you can hardly 
see where we came.” 

The others began to wake to the seriousness of the 
situation. 

“Haven’t you any idea where we are, Dart?” 

“Not the faintest notion, except that we are some- 
where between Elm and Big John. Perhaps Jane 
might know. She usually has a sixth sense for di- 
rection.” 

“Chicken Little,” he called, “do you mind getting 
out and seeing if you can tell us where we are?” 

Chicken Little was on the ground with a spring 
before Sherm could help her. She strained her eyes 
through the gloom. She, too, examined the ground, 
then, accompanied by Sherm and Hardy, waded 
through the snow for several hundred yards in each 
direction, the men kicking the snow in the hope of 
finding the track. Finally, Chicken Little gave it 
up. 

“I don’t know a blessed thing more than the rest 
of you. But I have the feeling we must be near 
Charlie Wattles’ place — you know that old darkey. 
You see the wind was right in our faces most of the 
way, and it isn’t now. It’s coming obliquely — course 
the wind may have changed. Let’s try heading west 
a while — and see if we can find the road. Let me sit 
up there with you and Sherm; I might see something 
I’d recognize.” 


Chicken Little Jane 


332 

“Chicken Little, you’d freeze,” objected Sherm. 

“Not any sooner than you will, Sherman Dart.” 

“We can wrap her up in a blanket and she might 
help us — we have got to get out of this some way. 
It’s ten o’clock.” 

They drove about slowly for half an hour, but 
they could find nothing that looked like a road. 
Some of the sleigh load were openly apprehensive 
and inclined to blame Hardy for their plight, but 
for the most part they were plucky and good-na- 
tured, trying to turn off their growing fear with 
jests. 

Chicken Little glued her eyes to the dimness 
ahead. 

Sherm suggested that they give the horses their 
head. 

“They’ll try to go back to town if we do, and I 
don’t believe they could hold out — that off one is 
blowing pretty badly now. This snow is heavy as 
mud to pull through.” Hardy looked dubious. 

“Turn due west, Mr. Hardy — we can’t be far 
from Big John.” 

Hardy obeyed and they drove another half hour, 
seeing nothing save the fluttering snowflakes and the 
snowy wastes opening out a few feet ahead as they 
advanced. 

“Chicken Little, your theory is all right, but it 
doesn’t seem to work,” Sherm remarked regretfully. 


The Lost Oyster Supper 333 

In the meanwhile, time had also been moving along 
at the ranch. The big sitting room at the cottage 
was brightly lighted and glowingly warm from an 
open wood fire. By eight o’clock, coffee was steam- 
ing on the back of the kitchen stove, the extension 
table pulled out to its full length, was set with soup 
plates and cups and silver. Piles of doughnuts and 
baskets of apples and walnuts stood awaiting the 
sharp appetites the Mortons knew the cold ride 
would bring to them. Marian had the milk and 
oysters ready for the stew and sat down to rest a 
moment before the arrival of the guests. She hardly 
noticed the clock until the hand pointed to half-past 
eight. 

“My, they’re late !” she exclaimed. 

Frank got up and went to the door. He encoun- 
tered Dr. Morton just coming in. 

“When did you say those youngsters were com- 
ing? It’s snowing like fury.” He paused on the 
porch to give himself another shake. 

“I don’t believe they’ll try to come out to-night. 
I guess you’ve had all your trouble for nothing. I 
only wish Chicken Little and Sherm had come home 
with you.” 

Frank, being a good many years nearer to under- 
standing the rashness of youth than his father, dis- 
agreed with him. 

“I bet they tried all right, but they may have had 


334 Chicken Little Jane 

to give it up. I wonder how long it’s been snowing 
this way. I haven’t been out since supper.” 

Dr. Morton sat and visited for a half hour, then 
said he guessed he’d better go back to Mother. She 
was worrying a little about her baby being out such 
a night. 

“She needn’t,” he concluded, “even a child like 
Jane would have sense enough not to start on a 
nine-mile ride in such weather.” 

After his father had gone, Frank put on his coat 
and went down the lane with a lantern. He came 
back presently and sat down by the fire without say- 
ing anything. 

Marian saw he was worried. “You don’t think 
they’ve got lost, do you, Frank?” 

“I don’t know what to think. I hope Father 
is right and they had sense enough not to start. 
But I wish to goodness I hadn’t let Jane stay 
in.” 

They sat there listening for every sound until 
the clock struck ten. Frank had twice gone to the 
door, imagining he heard sleigh bells. He got to his 
feet again at the sound of the clock. 

“You might as well go to bed, dear. We sha’n’t 
see them to-night, but I’ll sit up till eleven myself to 
make sure.” 

Marian waited a little while longer, then took his 
advice. Frank sat by the fire and pretended to read 



A ]nd]p kcnorTater fliey xtfere \x?armeci 





The Lost Oyster Supper 335 

until five minutes of twelve, then he, too, gave up 
the vigil as hopeless. 

At ten minutes past two they both sat up with a 
start at the sound of sleigh bells. An instant later 
there was a vigorous pounding on the door. 

Frank stared into the darkness for one confused 
instant, then leaped out of bed, and wrapping a 
dressing gown about him, flung open the door. 

Twelve numbed and snow-covered figures stum- 
bled into the room. Two of the men were half car- 
rying one of the girls. 

“Fire up quick, Frank, we’re most frozen! And 
get some hot water !” Sherm exclaimed, suiting the 
action to the word by stirring up the coals of the 
dying fire and piling on wood. 

It was not until a half hour later when they were 
warmed and fed, that the Mortons had time to listen 
to any connected account of the night’s adventures. 
Frank had speedily summoned his father to pre- 
scribe for frosted cheeks and fingers and toes. 
Later, it was discovered that John Hardy had a 
badly sprained wrist. Marian and Mrs. Morton 
made the girls comfortable and finished preparing 
the belated oyster supper. 

“I am glad we didn’t lose this oyster supper alto- 
gether,” said Grant Stowe feelingly. “I never tasted 
anything better.” 

“Same here,” a half dozen laughing voices echoed. 


336 Chicken Little Jane 

“I wasn’t so darned sure an hour ago that some 
of us were ever going to taste anything again,” said 
John Hardy soberly. 

“Things didn’t look exactly rosy, specially when 
we got spilled out,” one of the girls added. 

“What, did you have an upset?” Dr. Morton 
looked as if this were the last straw. 

“Yes, that’s how Hardy sprained his wrist!” 

“Chicken Little had just assured us that if we 
would drive a little farther west, we should surely 
find something, when we struck the sidehill and went 
over as neat as you please.” Mamie enjoyed this 
thrust at Jane. 

“Well, we found something, didn’t we?” defended 
Sherm. 

“I should say we found out how deep the snow 
was.” 

“Yes, and the sidehill made Jane sure we were 
near the creek, and then she saw the trees and ” 

“Yes, and then she found it wasn’t the creek at 
all, but the Wattles’ place.” 

“Whew!” exclaimed Frank, “you didn’t get over 
to black Charlie’s? Why, that was three miles out 
of your road!” 

“Yes, Frank, and you ought to have seen him. He 
was scared to death when we came pounding on his 
door in the middle of the night.” Chicken Little 
giggled at the recollection. 


The Lost Oyster Supper 337 

“And there was a trundle bed full of pickanninies 
and they kept popping their heads up. They were so 
ridiculous — with their little pigtails sticking up all 
over their heads, and their bead eyes.” 

“Well, old Charlie warmed us up all right and 
started us back on the road again,” said John Hardy 
gratefully. 

“And there’s another thing sure,” said Marian, 
interrupting this flow of reminiscence, “you can’t go 
back to town to-night, and you must be tired to 
death, all of you. Mother Morton, if you will take 
the girls over with you, Frank and I will make 
some pallets by the fire for these boys, and let them 
get some sleep.” 

****** 

The real sport of this excursion came the next 
day when Frank Morton hitched an extra team on 
in front of the livery horses and drove the party 
back to town himself, to make sure they did not 
come to grief again in the piled-up drifts. But 
Chicken Little and Sherm were not along. They 
watched them drive off with never a pang of envy. 

“I have had enough bobsled riding to do me for 
this winter,” said Jane wearily. Her evening at 
Fatinitza seemed a thousand years away. 

“Ditto, yours truly!” And Sherm yawned lux- 
uriously. 



Mrs. Morton and Marian were sitting by the great 
open fire at the cottage sewing for Jilly. Jilly her- 
self had constructed a wonderful vehicle of two 
chairs hitched to the center table, and she was vainly 
trying to persuade Huz and Buz to occupy seats in 
this luxurious equipage. Lazy Buz, having once 
been dragged up into a chair, staid put, though he 
looked aggrieved, but Huz had his eye on the braided 
rag rug in front of the fire-place. The moment Jil- 
ly’s gaze was attracted elsewhere, he would jump 
softly down and curl up on the rug. 

Marian had risen three times to restore him to 
Jilly because she mourned so loudly, but she finally 
began to sympathize with the pup. 

“Let him be, Honey, you’ve got Buz for company. 
Huz doesn’t want to play.” 

338 


An April Fool Frolic 339 

Jilly opened her mouth to wail. Then she sud- 
denly changed her mind, climbed down, and going 
over to Huz began whispering vigorously into his 
ear. Her warm breath tickled Huz and he flopped 
his ear to drive away the annoying insect. Jilly 
beamed, calling joyfully to her mother: “Huz say 
ess, Mamma, Huz say ess.” 

“But Jilly, Huz can’t talk.” 

“He nod he’s ear, Mamma. Huz nod he’s 

_ _ ^ 

ear. 

The unfortunate Huz went up into the chair once 
more. 

Mrs. Morton glanced out the window where the 
March wind was whipping the bare branches of the 
cherry trees into mournful complaining. Eddying 
leaves fluttered from the heaps accumulated in fence 
corners or beneath the friendly shelter of the ever- 
greens. A huge tumble weed went whirling down the 
road, passed on by each succeeding gust. In and 
out of the cedars, the robins were flying, prospect- 
ing for new nests. She pushed back her hair and 
sighed. 

“It doesn’t seem possible that April is almost here. 
Ernest has been gone nearly a school year. I am 
beginning to realize that I sha’n’t see much more of 
my boy.” 

“But, Mother Morton, he is doing so beautifully 
and he likes the life. You couldn’t keep him with 


340 Chicken Little Jane 

you much longer, even if he were not in the acad- 
emy. Besides, you still have Jane.” 

Mrs. Morton sighed again. 

“That is the worst of this ranch life. Jane is 
growing so fast I shall soon have to be sending tier 
away to school. If we only lived some place where 
she could be right with me till she finished her edu- 
cation.” 

“Oh, Mother Morton, I am glad she can’t. It is 
the best part of a girl’s education to go away from 
all the home coddling and have to rely upon herself. 
I wouldn’t give anything for what I learned by be- 
ing away from family and friends, and having to 
exert myself to make people like me, instead of tak- 
ing it for granted.” 

“I don’t doubt what you say is true, Marian, but 
Ernest is gone, and you don’t know what a wrench 
it is going to be to send my baby away, too.” 

“Are you thinking of sending her next year?” 

“I think I must, unless I can persuade Father to 
move to town for the winter so she can go to the 
High School. It isn’t merely the studies — I am most 
dissatisfied with her associations here.” 

“I know — the Creek is certainly a little crude. 
Still I think Jane is pretty sensible. And she is learn- 
ing a lot about human nature — human nature with- 
out its party clothes. It’s good for her, Mother, if 
she doesn’t get too much of it.” 


An April Fool Frolic 341 

“What’s good for whom?” Dr. Morton, com- 
ing in, was attracted by Marian’s earnest tone. 

“Jane, and the effect District Thirteen is having 
on her,” Marian explained. 

“I was just saying, Father, that she is getting too 
old to be associating with Tom, Dick, and Harry 
the way she is doing up at the schoolhouse.” 

“There you go again, Mother. You don’t go 
about enough among the neighbors to know what 
good kindly people they are. Of course, they are 
plain, but the Tom, Dick, and Harry you complain 
of, are more wholesome than lots of more stylish 
youngsters I know. I wish you’d try to be a little 
more neighborly. I am constantly hearing little 
thrusts about our family being stuck up. Frank will 
bear me out in this.” 

Frank had followed his father and was warming 
his hands in the blaze. 

“Oh, the Creek thinks the Morton family has a 
good opinion of itself, all right. But I have been 
thinking for some time that it wouldn’t hurt us any 
to have some sort of a merry-making and invite all 
the neighbors in.” Frank looked at Marian. 

“What could we have, Frank?” Marian inquired, 
her brow puckered a little. 

“Well, April Fool’s Day is next Wednesday — 
why not get up a frolic for that evening?” 

“Just for the young folks?” 


342 Chicken Little Jane 

“No, men, women, and children. Invite the fam- 
ilies. Send out an invitation to the whole Creek. 
There will be a lot who can’t come. Cook up plenty 
of stuff and we can play tricks — they won’t need 
much entertaining. How would that suit you, 
Chicken Little?” 

Jane had just strayed in to join the family group 
and was listening with interest. 

“I think it would be bully.” 

“Jane, where did you pick up such a coarse ex- 
pression? Father, that’s just what I complain of. 
How am I to teach my daughter to be a gentle 
woman, when she is constantly hearing vulgar lan- 
guage?” 

“Chicken Little is old enough to know better than 
to use such words, but she probably got that from 
Ernest or Sherm, if the truth were known.” Frank 
laughed. 

Chicken Little looked injured. 

“Why, bully isn’t a by-word — or strong language 
— and Ernest said it a lot. You never said anything 
to him about it’s being vulgar.” 

“My dear daughter, can I never make you under- 
stand that little ladies may not do everything their 
brothers do?” 

“I don’t care, Mother, I’m sick of hearing about 
ladies, and if bully is so vulgar, I don’t see whv it 
isn’t vulgar when a boy says it. You expect Ernest 


An April Fool Frolic 343 

to be a gentleman, don’t you, just as much as you do 
me to be a lady?” 

“Come, Chicken Little, don’t speak to your 
mother that way,” Dr. Morton reproved her. 

Mrs. Morton was more severe. 

“You may go to your room and remain until you 
can address your mother respectfully, my daughter.” 

Frank’s plan was carried out. There were no 
formal invitations issued. Frank and Dr. Morton 
and Jim Bart spoke to every neighbor they met for 
the next few days, inviting them to come to an April 
Fool frolic at seven on the evening of April first, 
and asking them to pass the invitation along to the 
other residents of Big John. Chicken Little and 
Sherm rode over to give Captain Clarke a special in- 
vitation, fearing he might not have become suffi- 
ciently used to Creek ways to come on the more gen- 
eral bidding. 

The Captain was charmed and begged leave to 
send Wing over to help that evening. Wing de- 
lighted in every new experience he was having on the 
Creek. He grinned joyously at the prospect. 

The entire Morton family entered into the prep- 
arations for this novel party with enthusiasm. Even 
Jilly and Huz and Buz caught the excitement of 
something unusual going on, and hung round, and 
got under everybody’s feet, more successfully than 
usual. Jilly had the privilege of scraping icing bowls 


344 Chicken Little Jane 

while Huz and Buz looked enviously on. They 
licked their sticky chops ecstatically when Jilly turned 
the bowl over to them after she had done her best 
with the big tin spoon. Her mother reproached her 
for letting the pups eat out of one of the family 
dishes, but Jilly couldn’t see why her mother was so 
particular. 

Mrs. Morton and Annie and Marian baked cakes 
and doughnuts and cookies and mince pies and cus- 
tard pies, ad roasted turkeys and whole hams, until 
pantry and cellar and spring house were all overflow- 
ing. It would be a never-ending reproach, if there 
should not be an abundance for all who might come, 
and no one could even guess how many would 
come. 

“It looks like enough for a regiment,” said Mrs. 
Morton wearily, dropping into a rocking chair on 
the afternoon of the thirty-first day of March. 

“Yes, but country men do have such astonishing 
appetites. I am sure it would feed all Centerville 
for twenty-four hours. Of course, some of the things 
are not eatable,” Marian replied. 

They had carried out the April Fool idea as much 
as possible without spoiling the supper. Six nice 
brown doughnuts had wads of cotton concealed in 
their tempting rings. These were to be mixed with 
the good ones. Pickles just out of the brine, were 
to be put in the same dish with deliciously perfect 


An April Fool Frolic 345 

ones. There was to be just enough of the false to 
keep the guests on the alert and make fun. 

While they were sitting there resting, Frank and 
Dr. Morton came in from a trip to town. Frank 
tossed a package into Marian’s lap with a laugh. 

“These ought to do the work for somebody. I’d 
like to fool old Jake Schmidt. It would be worth 
ten dollars to see his face — he is such a screw about 
driving a bargain. 1 ' 

Marian untied the string and opened the parcel, 
revealing a handful of the most luscious-looking little 
cucumber pickles that ever lured the unwary. 

“They certainly look all right,” said Marian, 
“what's the matter with them — salt?” 

“Feel them.” 

Marian picked one up gingerly as if she were 
afraid it might prick her or explode in her hand. 
Then she threw back her head and laughed mer- 
rily . 

“Frank, they are just perfect. I never should 
have guessed it. You can fetch Jake all right with 
one of these. Let me knew when you do, I’d like to 
be round to see the fun.” 

“Aren’t you afraid you will hurt somebody’s feel- 
ings with all these pranks? They don’t seem quite 
dignified some way for grown up people.” 

“That’s just why we want to have them, Mother. 
The Creek thinks the Morton family is entirely too 


346 Chicken Little Jane 

grown up and stiff. They’ll be good-natured, never 
fear.” 

That evening Chicken Little and Sherm put their 
heads together. 

“We just must find some way to fool Frank I 
sha’n’t be happy if we don’t.” Chicken Little bit 
her lips and studied. “Can’t you think of something, 
Sherm?” 

“Not right off the bat, but if we keep our eyes 
open, we’ll find a way. It would be jolly if we could 
do it before the crowd. They would so love to see 
Frank have to take his own medicine. Say, this 
party is going to be a Jim dandy!” 

It had been decided to have the gathering at the 
cottage, as the big sitting room and the bedroom ad- 
joining would hold more people than Mrs. Morton s 
parlor, sitting room, and dining room all three. Fur- 
ther, the parlor, being separated from the other 
rooms by a short hallway, was of use only for some 
little group who wished to be by themselves. Sherm 
and Chicken Little were busy all day trimming up 
the pictures and the windows with evergreen and 
bitter sweet berries, mixed with trailers from the 
Japanese honeysuckle, which still showed green 
underneath where it had escaped the hardest freezes. 
Marian flitted in occasionally with suggestions, but 
the two did most of the work alone. Chicken Little 
began by giving Sherm precise directions as to how 


An April Fool Frolic 347 

he was to arrange each branch and spray, but, pres- 
ently, he began to try little effects of his own so much 
more charming than hers, that she called Marian in 
to see. 

“You certainly have a knack for decoration, 
Sherm. I never dreamed you were artistic. Why 
didn’t you tell us? That spray against the curtain 
is exquisite. Have you ever taken drawing lessons?” 
Marian was both surprised and interested to dis- 
cover this unexpected talent in the self-contained lad. 

“No, I have never taken real drawing — I used to 
copy little geometrical designs at school along with 
the rest.” 

“Well, you surely ought to have lessons. I 
shouldn’t wonder if you had the making of an artist 
in you.” Marian hurried back to her custards. 

Chicken Little went on tying evergreen into ropes, 
but Marian had put several new ideas into her head. 

“Do you want to be an artist, Sherm?” 

“No, I want to be an architect.” 

“You never said anything about it before.” 

“What’s the use of talking? Doesn’t look as if 
I would ever get the education to be one now.” 

“Why, you can’t tell. Even if your father can’t 
send you, maybe you could work your own way — 
Mr. Clay has.” Chicken Little looked troubled; 
Sherm’s tone revealed a yearning she had not sus- 
pected. 


348 Chicken Little Jane 

“Yes, I could work my way if I had the chance. I 
guess Father is never going to be well again 

and ” He paused for a moment as if it were 

hard to go on. “Even if he lives, I may have to 
keep at work to support the family. Mother never 
says anything, and Father never told me much about 
his business — I don’t know how much we have, but 
I’m afraid there isn’t a great deal left.” 

There was a hopeless ring in his voice that hurt 
Chicken Little. She wanted to double up her fist 
and attack somebody or something in Sherm s be- 
half. 

“I think they — your mother ought to tell you.’ 

“Oh, Mother doesn’t realize I am most grown — 
she — she doesn’t think I amount to much I guess.” 
The boy had been brooding; his manhood affronted 
because he had not been permitted to share in the 
family councils. 

“Don’t feel that way — she doesn’t mean to leave 
you out, Sherm. You know it’s awfully hard to write 
things and you have been away most a year.” 

“That’s just it. I’ve been away most a year, and 
Mother doesn’t even hint at my coming back!” 

“But Sherm, she’s so worried all the time about 
your father.” 

“All the same, I bet your mother wouldn’t forget 
about Ernest if your father was ill. I am the only 
boy in the family and I know I could help, if they’d 


An April Fool Frolic 349 

only trust me. It’s being left out that hurts, Chicken 
Little. But forget everything I’ve said. I didn’t 
mean to blab this way. I s’pose Mother’s right — 
I can’t even keep my own affairs to myself.” Sherm 
shut his lips together tightly. 

Jane tactfully changed the subject. 

“I suppose you’d have to know a lot to be an archi- 
tect.” 

“Yes, right smart — I’d need a college education, 
and then I’d like to go to Paris and study at the 
Beaux Arts.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Oh, it’s a school for architects and artists. I 
don’t know very much about it myself. The New 
York architect who designed the new court house at 
home told me I ought to go there, if I ever wanted 
to be a real honest to goodness architect. I had a 
talk with him one day. He said if I ever got ready 
to go, to write to him, and he would give me some 
letters to people in Paris.” 

“My, wouldn’t that be grand to study in Paris? 
I most wish I was a boy — they can do such wonder- 
ful things.” 

* * * * * * 

The neighborhood gatherings began early. By 
half-past seven, hitching posts and trees and fence 
were all in use for the teams. Frank was pleased. 

“If there is anything in numbers, this party is 


350 Chicken Little Jane 

going to be a success. Sure you have plenty to 
eat?” 

Marian groaned. “Frank, I am dead sure we 
have all the food we can possibly serve between now 
and midnight. I don’t see how we are ever to man- 
age.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll impress about a dozen of the 
young folks as waiters — they will like nothing bet- 
ter. The boys each have one more pair of hands 
than they know what to do with. Look at the Rad- 
don boys over by the fire-place. They have put their 
hands in their pockets, and taken them out, and 
dropped them by their sides, and picked up every 
bit of bric-a-brac on the mantel, and smoothed back 
their hair, and Heaven knows what else, during the 
last ten minutes. Hands are an awful responsibil- 
ity ! It will be a Godsend to them to give them some- 
thing to do.” 

Chicken Little came out, after helping with wraps 
and seating guests, in a gale of merriment. 

“Oh, Marian, do take a peep at Mrs. Brown. She 
has a purple skirt and a blue polonaise and a red bow 
on her hair, and she’s got her hair banged in front 
and pulled back tight as can be behind.” 

“Hush, Jane, they’re our guests.” 

“I know, and I didn’t mean to be making fun — 
but Marian, she’s a sight! And Jake Schmidt’s wife 
and sister have the loveliest hand embroidered caps 


An April Fool Frolic 3£l 

and aprons, with exquisite lace, that they brought 
from the old country, and some of the other women 
are sort of turning up their noses at them. I wish 
you’d go and say something extra nice to them.” 

Marian found her way to where Christine and 
Johanna Schmidt were shrinking into a corner, pain- 
fully aware that their festal dress was very different 
from their neighbors’. . Marian asked after the 
children and said one or two pleasant things to make 
them feel at home, then, raising her voice a trifle so 
that the whole room might hear, she lifted a corner 
of Johanna’s apron, exclaiming: “Where did you get 
this exquisite apron? I don’t believe I have ever 
seen such a beautiful one. May I look at the lace?” 

Johanna colored with pleasure. She forgot her 
shyness and explained eagerly. Marian did not leave 
her until she had made every woman in that part 
of the room admire both hers and Christine’s old 
country handiwork, and they had promised to show 
her how to make the lace. There was no more smil- 
ing at their unusual dress. Others followed 
Marian’s example in asking to be taught the beauti- 
ful craft. Old Jake himself, who had never before 
considered his women folk as amounting to much, 
was so gratified by the attention they were receiving, 
that he was more offensive than usual. 

“Never mind,” said Frank, “I’ll fix Jake.” 

The early part of the evening passed in visiting 


3 £2 Chicken Little Jane 

and games. Supper was served at ten. There was a 
stir when the refreshments appeared. Word had 
gone about that there was to be some hoaxing in 
connection with the supper and everybody was firmly 
resolved not to be fooled. Marian allayed suspicion 
by starting them off with delicious coffee and rolls 
and cold ham and turkey. Having tasted these gin- 
gerly, and found them delicious, both young and old 
grew less wary. Chicken Little came in demurely 
with a great dish of pickles. The Creek loved 
pickles. It helped itself plentifully. Captain Clarke 
got the first taste of brine, but after one surprised 
grimace, he went on eating it heroically, while he 
watched the others. Old Jake promptly fixed his 
eye on a nice firm-looking green one. He lifted the 
fork awkwardly and attempted to take the pickle. 
The pickle slid from under the fork as if it had been 
greased. Jake was terribly afraid of being a laugh- 
ing stock; he glanced slily around to see if any one 
had noticed. Frank was watching from the opposite 
side of the room, but Jake did not see him. He 
grasped the fork firmly in his great fist and speared 
the pickle as if he had been harpooning a fish. The 
pickle resented such violence. It shot out of the 
dish and half way across the room with old Jake, the 
fork still clenched firmly, gazing stupidly after it. 

“April Fool, Jake!” called one of the men who 
saw the joke. Some one picked up the pickle and 


An April Fool Frolic 393 

passed it from hand to hand. After that, people 
avoided the wooden pickles, but several took liberal 
bites of brine-steeped ones. 

The fun was well under way by this time. So 
many people had been victimized that many refused 
the dainties they coveted, for fear of being deceived, 
only to find their next neighbor enjoying them. The 
guests began to try to catch each other, and the 
young men would get Marian to point out the traps. 
But, so far, Frank had escaped, though Sherm and 
Chicken Little had been plotting all day. They took 
Captain Clarke into their confidence, but even he 
failed, until he had the happy thought of getting 
Wing to help. Wing had been working busily in 
the kitchen assisting Annie. 

Frank had steadily refused cotton wool dough- 
nuts and sanded pie and every doubtful delicacy, but 
he was extremely fond of cup custard. When Wing 
approached him, urging that he be served now, Frank 
hesitated a moment, then said: “Just bring me a 
custard, Wing. And Wing, don’t let anybody med- 
dle with it.” 

Wing came grinning to the conspirators. 

“Oh, dear,” said Chicken Little, “I think the cus- 
tards are all right.” 

Marian overheard. “Trust me, Chicken Little, 
I have one very special one for Frank — I didn’t in- 
tend to have him crowing.” 


354 Chicken Little Jane 

Wing bore in a most tempting custard. Frank 
inspected it carefully to make sure it had not been 
tampered with. In so doing he attracted the atten- 
tion of those round him. He took a generous spoon- 
ful and made a hasty dive for the kitchen amid lively 
applause from the whole room. 

“What was in it?” The Captain was still shak- 
ing. 

“Mustard — Marian made it bad enough so he 
couldn’t hide it!” Chicken Little was dancing up 
and down in glee. 

“Wing, you rascal, I’d like to choke you.” Frank 
was still sputtering. 

Wing assumed a mournful expression. “Me velly 
sorry — nobody touch, samee you say.” 

It was the second of April before the last rattle 
of wheels died away down the lane. 

“Well, Mother, I think it paid for the trouble,” 
said Dr. Morton, as they were starting homeward, 
his arms laden with chairs. 

“Yes, I guess, perhaps, I have been inclined to 
stand too much aloof. That little Mrs. Anderson is 
really a cultured woman. She comes from Maine. 
I asked her to come and spend the day Tuesday.” 

Marian’s comment was brief. 

“Frank, I am dead, but I’m glad we did it.” 

“So am I — put out the light.” Frank was already 
half asleep. 


ti ' • 


CHAPTER, xdc 



SEPRMHARS BADPBWS 


“Sherm, don’t you just love this room?” Chicken 
Little gazed about Captain Clarke’s big library with 
a real affection. “I don’t know why it is, but this 
room makes me feel the same way a sunset, or the 
prairie when it s all in bloom, does. I can’t just tell 
you, but it makes me so satisfied with everything . . . 
as if the world was so beautiful it couldn’t possibly 
be very bad.” 

‘T know — it’s the harmony, like in music. The 
colors all seem to go together . . . everything seems 
to belong. I like that, too, but it doesn’t mean just 
that, to me. I see the Captain every time I step in 
here. It’s a part of him — almost as if he had 
worked his own bigness and the kind of things he 
loves, into furniture and books and — fixings.” 

“Yes, there’s so much room to breathe here — I 


355 


356 Chicken Little Jane 

s’pose being at sea so much, he had to have that. 
And he picked up most of these things on his voy- 
ages — he must have wanted them pretty bad or he 
wouldn’t have carried them half around the world 
with him.” 

The young people had come over to the Captain’s 
for supper. School had closed the day before, and 
Chicken Little was the proud possessor of an elab- 
orate autograph album, won as a spelling prize. 
Captain Clarke had attended the closing exercises 
at her request. He had invited them over to cele- 
brate, this evening. He declared he had never 
learned to spell himself and he wanted the honor of 
entertaining some one who knew how. 

Chicken Little had brought the album along for 
the Captain’s signature. “And write something, too, 
won’t you? Something specially for me,” she had 
begged winningly. 

“Have they all written something — specially for 
you, Chicken Little? I should like to read them.” 

“I haven’t asked very many people yet, just Mr. 
Clay and Grant Stowe and Mamie Jenkins’ little sis- 
ter — Mamie’s in town you know. I asked Sherm, 
but he hasn’t thought up anything.” 

The Captain glanced at Sherm and smiled whim- 
sically. “Now, if I were as young as Sherm, I 
shouldn’t have to think up things — the trouble would 
be to restrain my eloquence.” 


357 


Sherm Hears Bad News 

Sherm grinned and looked uncomfortable. 

The Captain was merciful; he changed the sub- 
ject. 

“Isn’t the middle of May a little early to close 
school ?” 

“No, it is the usual time. You see the older chil- 
dren have to help at home as soon as the weather 
gets warm.” 

“Of course. What are you going to do this sum- 
mer?” 

“Wish Ernest was home,” Jane answered pertly, 
but there was a wistful look in her eyes. 

Before the Captain could reply, Wing came to 
the door to announce a man to see him. The Cap- 
tain was gone some time. When he returned, he ex- 
plained that it was a buyer from Kansas City after 
his corn, and he should have to leave them to enter- 
tain themselves for a while. 

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” he paused in the 
doorway as the idea occurred to him. “You two 
may rummage in the drawers of the cabinet. Take 
out anything you like the looks of. I think you will 
find a lot of interesting stuff there. Make yourselves 
at home.” 

They lingered, discussing the room for several 
minutes after his departure, then Jane went over to 
the cabinet. 

“Come on — there are heaps of wonderful things 


358 Chicken Little Jane 

here. He showed me some of them the day I ran 
off and came to see him on my own hook. That’s a 
year ago ! My, I feel as if it were a dozen — it seems 
as if I were just a little girl then.” 

“And now?” Sherm adored to set Jane off. 

“None of your sarcasm, Mr. Dart.” Then sob- 
erly: “Truly, Sherm, I know I’m a lot older. Things 
seem so different to me.” 

“I know you are, too, Lady Jane. I was only 
teasing you.” 

They had a beautiful half hour among the Cap- 
tain’s treasures. Sherm gloated especially over the 
prints — their wonderful composition and soft color. 

“Say, the Japs know a thing or two, don’t they? 
That wouldn’t be my idea of what to put into a pic- 
ture, but it’s awfully satisfying.” He held the print 
off and closed one eye to see the outlines more viv- 
idly. 

“Sherm, you surely were intended for an artist.” 
Chicken Little had gone on to the drawer below. 
“Oh, Sherm, I believe this is the drawer the Captain 
didn’t show me before. Do you suppose he wants 
us to go through it?” 

“He said all of them. What’s in it?” 

“Oh, sashes and scarfs and things. I thought 
maybe they used to belong to his wife.” 

Sherm lifted a Roman scarf of crimson and yel- 
low and rich blue, and examined it admiringly. “It 


Sherm Hears Bad News 359 

doesn’t look as if this had ever been worn. I guess 
he wouldn’t have told us to go ahead if there had 
been anything here he didn’t want us to find. Say, 
Chicken Little, this would look dandy on you. Here, 
I’m going to fix you up for Captain Clarke to see.” 

Sherm shook out the glowing silken folds and 
proceeded to wreathe the scarf around Chicken Lit- 
tle’s head, turban fashion. Her brown eyes glowed 
and the color in her cheeks grew deeper, as she met 
the admiration in Sherm’s eyes. He was staring at 
her, enchanted at the result of his efforts. Jane 
moved restlessly. 

“Hold still there, can’t you? I want to try it an- 
other way. Didn’t I see one of those sleeveless 
jacket affairs in there?” 

Jane rummaged and brought to light a crimson 
silk Turkish jacket embroidered in gold thread. She 
noticed that it, too, seemed perfectly fresh. 

“Sherm, I do wonder how Captain Clarke hap- 
pened to buy all these woman’s things. Do you 
suppose he bought them for his wife and she was 
dead when he got home with them?” 

“I wonder. Perhaps we oughtn’t to be handling 
them. See all those queer beads, and there’s a 
bracelet! Isn’t it a beauty? See, it is like silver 
lace. I guess those blue stones must be turquoises.” 

“Isn’t it dainty? That must be the filigree work 
we read about.” 


360 Chicken Little Jane 

Sherm was staring thoughtfully at the contents of 
the drawer. “One thing sure,’* he muttered, “he 
must have thought a heap of her.” 

Chicken Little had continued exploring. “Here’s 
a photograph and two locks of hair in a little frame. 
Oh, Sherm, it’s her! Yes, it must be, this is the same 
baby. I wonder why he doesn’t have this on his 
bureau, too.” 

Sherm took the picture and stared at it so long 
that Jane grew impatient. 

“What is it, Sherm? What’s the matter?” 

Sherm started, passing his hand over his forehead 
and eyes as if he were dazed. 

“Funny, the face seems sort of familiar. I had 
such a queer feeling about it for a minute.” 

“I know why it looks familiar — there’s a tiny bit 
of resemblance to you — not as much as in the pic- 
tures of the baby. I suppose the baby got it from 
the mother. Still, I think it looks like Captain 
Clarke, too, don’t you?” 

“Let’s put these things back, Chicken Little. 
Poor little lady, I wonder what happened to her.” 
Sherm laid the picture gently back in the bottom of 
the drawer and helped Jane fold and lay away the 
other things. They had both forgotten the Roman 
sash which still adorned her dark hair. 

Captain Clarke, coming in soon after, started 
when he saw her and glanced at the cabinet. 


Sherm Hears Bad News 361 

“Dressing up, Chicken Little? That gew gaw 
was evidently intended by Providence for you. 
Won’t you accept it as a present to keep that auto- 
graph album company?” 

Chicken Little put her hand to her head in dis- 
may. Captain Clarke must have thought she wanted 
it. She stammered awkwardly: 

“Oh, Captain Clarke — I — couldn’t take it. I 
oughtn’t to have put it on.” 

Sherm calmly took the matter out of her hands. 

“She didn’t put it on, Captain Clarke. I’m the 
guilty party. I thought it would be so becoming to 
Chicken Little — her dark hair and eyes — you know. 
I didn’t realize till we came across the picture that it 
belonged to your wife — and — you might not like to 
have us handle it.” 

“It was never Mrs. Clarke’s,” the Captain said 
evenly. “I bought it for her, but she” — he hesi- 
tated an instant — “she — died before my return. I 
told you to rummage the drawers, and that scarf is 
entirely too becoming to Chicken Little’s bright eyes 
to be wasted in a drawer any longer. You will be 
doing me a favor, my dear.” 

“You seem to have an eye for color, Sherm. 
Juanita loved color, too, that is why I picked up so 
many gay things for her.” Captain Clarke seemed 
to have formed a sudden resolution. He plunged his 
hand down among the rustling silks and brought up 


362 Chicken Little Jane 

the picture. His hand trembled a little as he handed 
it to Chicken Little. “I have never shown you her 
picture before. She had eyes something like yours.” 

Chicken Little took the picture and tried to look 
as if nothing had happened. She described the scene 
to Marian afterwards. “O Marian, I felt as if I 
were standing in a story book. The Captain s face 
was as white, but he went on talking just as if I 
knew all about his wife, and — I do wonder ! I felt 
so sorry for him. Sherm said he wanted to kick 
himself for being so thoughtless.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Jane, and don’t be trying 
to make a mystery out of what was merely a big sor- 
row. It must have been an awful blow to him to 
come home and find wife and baby both dead, but it 
happened years ago. I expect it did him good to 
talk to you and Sherm about it.” 

Chicken Little forgot about it after a few days, 
except when she went to the box where she kept the 
scarf. She always thought of the picture of the 
young mother and baby whenever she saw it. 

“I don’t believe I ever can wear it,” she told 
Sherm. 

“Oh, yes, you will, some of these days; the Cap- 
tain would be hurt if you didn’t.” 

****** 

Sherm hadn’t heard from his mother for over a 
week when a neighbor came one evening and handed 


Sherm Hears Bad News 363 

Dr. Morton a yellow envelope. “No bad news, I 
hope,” he said. 

It was addressed to Dr. Morton and read: “My 
husband died this morning. Break news to Sherm — 
he must await letter.” 

Sherm, too, was older than he had been a year 
before. He was coming up the lane whistling, swing- 
ing his supple young body along at a good pace, as 
if he enjoyed being alive. Dr. Morton watched him, 
dreading to have to tell him the bad news and won- 
dering how he would take it. “It’s a pity,” he 
thought, “Sherm’s a fine manly fellow and ought to 
have his education and a chance at life, and I am 
afraid this means more than losing his father.” 

He waited until the boy came up to him. He was 
still holding the telegram in his hand, but Sherm did 
not notice it until he spoke. 

Dr. Morton’s voice was very kind. “My boy, I 

am — afraid ” He got no farther. Sherm saw 

the telegram and understood. “Father?” he ques- 
tioned. Dr. Morton nodded. 

Sherm stood motionless, as if he were trying to 
realize that the blow he had so long dreaded, had 
fallen. Presently he looked up at the Doctor. 

“There isn’t any train before to-morrow, is 
there?” 

“No, Sherm, and I don’t think your mother ex- 
pects — here, read the message.” 


364 Chicken Little Jane 

Sherm’ s hand shook. He read the meager words 
through twice, then crushed the paper in his fist. 

“I am going home to-morrow,” he said doggedly. 
“I’ve got enough saved up for the railroad fare. 
He was my father — I haven’t seen him for a year. 
They might have told me! I am riot a child any 
longer!” 

Dr. Morton laid his hand on his shoulder. 
“Don’t, Sherm — don’t add bitterness to grief. Your 
mother may not have known in time. Death often 
comes suddenly at the last in such cases. And, my 
boy, I would think twice before setting out rashly. 
Your mother asks you to wait for her letter she 
must have some good reason. The message was sent 
this morning. There will probably be a letter to- 
morrow.” 

“I don’t care whether there’s a letter or not, I’m 
going.” There was a hard look on the boy’s face. 

Chicken Little came running up, with Jilly pant- 
ing alongside. “My, we had a good race, didn t we, 

Jilly Dilly? Why — what’s ” She stopped 

short at sight of their grave faces. 

Dr. Morton told her. 

She stood a moment awestruck; Chicken Little had 
never had death come so near her before. Then she 
turned to Sherm, her face so full of tender pity that 
his face softened a trifle. 

“Don’t worry about me, Chicken Little,” he said 


Sherm Hears Bad News 365 

gruffly, “I am all right. If you’ll help me knock my 
things together after a while, I’ll be grateful. I 
guess I’ll take a — walk — now.” His voice broke a 
little at the last. 

He did not wait for an answer, but walked hur- 
riedly away. Jane gazed after him, undecided 
whether to follow or not. Dr. Morton divined her 
thought. “I wouldn’t, dear. Let him have it out 
alone first — you can comfort him later on. I want 
you to help me persuade him not to rush off before 
he receives his mother’s letter. I must say I don’t 
blame Sherm for resenting his mother’s attitude. 
I think she is making a big mistake.” 

Dusk came and the darkness closed round while 
Chicken Little strained her eyes in vain for Sherm. 
It was almost ten before he came back. She was 
standing at the gate watching for him. The rest of 
the family had gone to bed. “Chicken Little can 
comfort him better than any of us,” Dr. Morton had 
told his wife. “He will be glad not to have to face 
any of the rest of the family to-night.” 

“You shouldn’t have stayed up, Chicken Little,” 
Sherm called, as soon as he caught sight of her. “I 
forgot I asked you to help me — I’d have come home 
sooner if I’d remembered. The duds can wait till 
morning — I can get up early.” He spoke quietly. 

“Do you think you ought to go, Sherm?” 

Sherm’s eyes smouldered. Jane could not see him 


366 Chicken Little Jane 

very distinctly, but she could fairly feel his deter- 
mination. 

“It’s no use talking, I’m going!” 

They went up the walk in silence. The lilacs and 
the white syringia in the borders were in bloom. She 
hoped Sherm did not notice the heavy fragrance — 
it was so like a funeral. He did not say anything 
till they got to the foot of the stairs. 

‘Thank you, Jane, for— for waiting.” His voice 
broke pitifully. 

When Dr. Morton discovered the next morning 
that Sherm was not to be moved from his purpose, 
he decided to go into town early and see if by any 
chance there might be another telegram or a letter. 
Letters from the east sometimes came down by a 
branch line from the north. There was nothing, and 
he finally resolved to telegraph Mrs. Dart as to 
Sherm’s state of mind. Sherm was to come later in 
the day with Frank in time to catch the evening train, 
which was the only one that made close connections 
at Kansas City. It was late afternoon before he re- 
ceived a reply. The message was emphatic. “Sherm 
must await letter.” 

“Mrs. Dart evidently knows her own mind,” 
thought the Doctor. He drove a little way out of 
town and waited for Frank and Sherm. Chicken 
Little was with them. He gave the boy this second 
message, explaining what he had done. Sherm read 


Sherm Hears Bad News 367 

it over and over, as if he hoped in some way to find 
a reason for his mother’s decision lurking between 
the lines. 

At length he said stolidly: “I’ll wait till to-mor- 
row. Perhaps the letter will come to-night.” 

They talked it over and Sherm and Chicken Little 
went on to town with the light buggy to wait for the 
mail, while Dr. Morton and Frank drove home. 

There was a handful of letters in the box. Sherm 
took them out hastily. 

“I guess this is it,” he said, stuffing one into his 
pocket. “And here’s three for you.” 

“Three? Whoever from?” Jane held out her 
hand. “Ernest and Katy — and here’s another with 
an Annapolis postmark. Who do you suppose?” 

Sherm glanced over her shoulder. “That’s Carol 
Brown’s handwriting.” 

“Carol? — writing to me? How funny!” 

They hurried out to the team. 

“Let me drive while you read your letter, Sherm.” 

Sherm shook his head. “Read yours first — this 
will keep.” 

“The idea — I wouldn’t be so piggy selfish.” 

“Please, Jane, I’d rather get out of town before 
I tackle it.” 

“Sherm, I wish I could ” She didn’t need to 

finish. Sherm understood. 

“Read Carol’s first,” he said. 


368 Chicken Little Jane 

She read it with a beaming face. Sherm was look- 
ing at her without seeing her. She started to tell 
him the contents of the letter, then suddenly stopped. 
She couldn’t rejoice over being asked to a hop when 
Sherm was in such trouble. Laying the letter in her 
lap, she took up Ernest’s. Sherm noticed the move- 
ment and, remembering, asked her what Carol had 
to say. 

She handed him the letter. He read it through 
absently. The houses were thinning along the road. 
The prairie stretched ahead of them in solitary 
sweeps of tender green, dappled with flowers. Jane 
reached for the reins. 

“Read your letter, Sherm.” 

He obeyed in silence. Chicken Little kept her 
eyes on the road ahead. A sharp exclamation from 
Sherm startled her: 

“God, it can’t be true!” 

Sherm swearing? She looked at him in amaze- 
ment. The boy was not swearing; he had cried out 
in utter agony. He dropped the letter on the floor 
of the buggy and buried his face in his hands. 

“Sherm, Sherm, what is it?” Chicken Little was 
frightened. 

He did not answer. He did not seem to have no- 
ticed that she had spoken. She reached over and 
touched him. “Sherm ! Sherm !” He shook off her 
hand impatiently. 


Sherm Hears Bad News 369 

Chicken Little hesitated a moment, then flicked 
the horses into a swift trot. She must get him home. 
Perhaps he was going to be ill. The boy did not 
move or look up for miles. When the horses 
splashed through the ford at Elm Creek, he roused 
himself and looked dully at Jane. 

Sherm, please tell me. It will make it easier 
for you to tell somebody, and I’m worried to death.” 

He stooped and picked up the letter. Smoothing 
it out, he thrust it into her hand. “Read it.” He 
took the reins. 

Chicken Little ran over the letter hurriedly. It 
bore a date some days previous. 

“My Dear Boy: 

“Dr. Jones has just told me it can be only a ques- 
tion of days now. I have been studying whether to 
send for you or not. Father settled the question for 
me. He said he wanted sorrowfully to see you, but 
in view of the things that must be told you, it would 
be too painful an ordeal for all of us. He said to 
tell you you were very precious to him — as precious 
as if you had really been his own son.” 

Chicken Little gave a little cry. “Sherm, what 
does she mean?” 

“Read it all.” 

“For, Sherm, you are not our own. If Father 
could have lived, we never intended you to know 


370 Chicken Little Jane 

this — at least not until you were a man and had 
made a place for yourself. But Father’s illness is 
leaving us penniless. Sue’s husband has offered 
Grace and myself a home with them, but he thinks 
you must be told the truth — that it is only fair to 
you. We took you when you were about two and a 
half years old under very peculiar circumstances. It 
was while we were still living in New York, and Sue 
was a tot of five. We were going up to my father’s 
in Albany and were a little late. Father told the 
hackman to drive fast; he’d give him an extra dol- 
lar if he’d catch the train. The man had been drink- 
ing and drove recklessly. He was just dashing round 
the corner to the station — the train was already 
whistling — when he knocked down, and ran over, a 
woman with a child in her arms. The child was 
pitched to one side and escaped with a few bruises. 
The woman never regained consciousness. You have 
probably guessed that you were that child. We 
could never find out who she was, though we adver- 
tised for several weeks. We decided to bring you 
up with Sue, and when we moved to Centerville, soon 
after, no one knew you were not our own child. We 
had you baptized Sherman after the great general 
who had just won his way to notice then. I have 
saved the clothing you wore, and a brooch and wed- 
ding ring of your mother’s. I will send them to you, 
together with a hundred dollars, which is all I can 


Sherm Hears Bad News 371 

give you to start you on your way.” The remainder 
of the letter was filled with her grief over parting 
with her husband, and her separation from Sherm 
himself. 

Chicken Little swallowed hard — something 
seemed to be gripping her by the throat. 

“And your father isn’t your father, Sherm?— or 
your mother or Sue or Grace?” The tragic extent 
of what had happened was dawning slowly upon 
Jane. 

Sherm’s lips trembled. 

“No, I — haven’t any father — I’ve never had a 
father ! . . . I haven’t got anybody. ... I haven’t 
even got a name that belongs to me !” Sherm’s voice 
grew shriller and shriller till it broke with a drv 
sob. 

Chicken Little slipped her hand into his and the 
boy clung to it spasmodically, as if that slim, brown 
hand were all he had in the world to cling to. The 
tears were raining down Jane’s cheeks, but Sherm’s 
eyes were dry and burning. The team trotted along 
evenly. They turned mechanically into the stable 
yard when they reached the ranch. It was growing 
dusk. 

Sherm helped her out, saying: “Will you please 
tell them, Chicken Little? I won’t come in just 
yet.” 

She ran to the house and poured out her tale. Her 


372 Chicken Little Jane 

father hurried to the stable. Sherm was not there. 
Tim Bart, who was milking in the corral near by, said 
he had saddled Caliph and gone off down the lane. 
Dr. Morton talked it over with Frank and they de- 
cided that Sherm had done the wisest thing possible 
in going for a gallop. 

“He doesn’t mean to do anything rash or he 
wouldn’t have taken Ernest’s horse,” Frank declared. 

But as hour after hour went by, the family grew 
more and more anxious. At eleven o’clock, Frank 
saddled Calico and tried to find him. He returned 
some time later in despair. 

“You might as well try to look for a needle in a 
haystack. Poor lad, I have faith he will ride the 
worst of it off and Caliph is a pretty steady little 
beast now. He’ll bring him home.” 

A few moments after his return, a messenger came 
from Captain Clarke, saying that he had been wak- 
ened by Caliph neighing at the gate and had gone 
out to find Sherm dazed and apparently completely 
exhausted. He had got him to bed where he was 
sleeping heavily. Captain Clarke was afraid they 
must be worried. He would care for him till morn- 
ing, but he would be glad to have some inkling of 
what had happened so that he might know what to 
say to the boy when he waked. 

Dr. Morton got out his medicine case and went 
back with the man. 



(~'HAPTER_XX 
TffiGdPTAIN roos HfSOWN 


Chicken Little climbed the hill of sleep pain- 
fully that night, and slept late the following morn- 
ing in consequence. While she was eating break- 
fast, Frank came in with two tear-stained, dusty 
letters, which he had found in the bottom of 
the buggy. 

“Is this the way you treat your correspondence, 
Sis?” 

“The idea — it’s Ernest’s and Katy’s letters and I 
never read them. Sherm’s trouble drove them clear 
out of my mind.” 

“Evidently, one is torn part way open, and the 
other hasn’t been touched.” 

“Hurry up and tell us what Ernest has to say. I 
was wondering why he hadn’t written.” Mrs. Mor- 
ton paused expectantly. 

373 


374 Chicken Little Jane 

“He says a lot of things,” replied Jane, skimming 
rapidly through the letter. “He says they are go- 
ing to start on their summer cruise next week and 
the boys are tickled to death to go, though they’re 
probably just going to cruise around to Navy yards 
and see dry docks and improving things. He says 
that it’s rumored that Superintendent Balch is going 
away and Old Rodgers is coming back as superin- 
tendent. And this year’s class graduated three Japs 
— the Japanese government sent them over. He 
gives the names, but I can’t pronounce them. One 
is I-n-o-u-y-e.” 

“Skip the Japs and give us the rest.” Frank was 
waiting to hear the news. 

“That’s about all that would interest you.” 

“My dear, anything concerning Ernest interests 
me,” protested her mother. 

“But it isn’t about Ernest; it’s about Carrol 
Brown.” 

“Well, what is it?” 

“Oh, nothing much — he just took a fancy to my 
picture and asked Ernest a lot of questions.” 
Chicken Little folded the letter and hastily slipped it 
back into the envelope, devoutly hoping her mother 
wouldn’t demand to see it. She tore open Katy’s. 
Before she had read two lines she gave a little cry 
of delight. 

“Oh, Mother, do you think I could? Oh, wouldn’t 


The Captain Finds His Own 375 

it be just too wonderful? O Mother, you must say 
Yes !” 

“Jane, what are you talking about? Calm your- 
self and tell me.” Mrs. Morton looked up over her 
spectacles severely. 

“Why, she says her mother wants me to come and 
live with them next year and go to the High School 
and that Alice and Dick want me to come there. 
And, perhaps, I could stay part of the time at one 
house and part at the other, and for me to tell you 
and let you be thinking about it, and Alice and Mrs. 
Halford are both going to write you all about it, and 
— oh, Mother, wouldn’t it be too wonderful?” 

Mrs. Morton looked both surprised and worried. 
“It is certainly most kind of them all, but I shall 
have to think the matter over.” 

“Well,” said Frank, “that doesn’t have to be set- 
tled to-day. Jane, Marian wishes to know if you 
want to go over to the Captain’s with her to see 
Sherm. She is going to start in a few minutes.” 

Chicken Little jumped to her feet. “I’ll be ready 
in a jiffy!” 

Sherm had still not wakened when they arrived. 
He had roused once toward morning; Captain Clarke 
had spoken to him, telling him where he was, then 
he had dropped quietly off to sleep again. 

Captain Clarke asked Chicken Little a good many 
questions. 


376 Chicken Little Jane 

“I should like to see that letter/’ he said. 

“It’s in his coat pocket. I tucked it in — I was 
afraid he’d lose it.” 

Dr. Morton, who was still there, sat for several 
minutes in a brown study. 

“I think,” he said presently, “that under the cir- 
cumstances we should be justified in reading it with- 
out waiting for Sherm’s permission.” He looked at 
Captain Clarke. 

The latter nodded assent. 

Both read it and discussed it briefly. Still Sherm 
did not waken. 

“I believe I’ll drive over to Jake Schmidt’s while 
I am waiting — I have an errand with him. Marian, 
don’t you want to ride over with me?” 

“Captain Clarke,” said Jane rather timidly after 
they had gone, “would you mind showing me that 
picture of your baby again?” 

Captain Clarke rose and brought the photograph. 
Chicken Little studied it carefully, then glanced up 
at the Captain. Sherm certainly was like the picture 
— as much like it as a boy who was almost a man 
grown could be. Should she dare to ask him? 
Chicken Little felt herself growing hot and cold by 
turns. Her heart was beating so she thought the 
Captain must surely hear it. One minute she was 
sure she didn’t dare, the next, she remembered 
Sherm’s broken-hearted words about not belonging 


The Captain Finds His Own 377 

to anybody, and she was sure she could screw her 
courage up — in just a minute. Captain Clarke 
helped her out. He had been observing her restless 
movements for several minutes and was wondering 
if she could possibly have guessed what was in his 
own mind. 

“Out with it, little woman, what’s troubling you?” 

Chicken Little got up from her seat and went and 
stood close beside him. “I want to say something to 
you awfully, only I am afraid you — won’t like it,” 
she said earnestly. 

“My dear child, don’t be afraid of me.” 

Chicken Little summoned up her resolution. 

“I wanted to ask — to ask you, if you wouldn’t 
adopt Sherm. You see he looks like your little boy 
would have looked, and he hasn’t got anybody or any 
name, and he isn’t going to want to live hardly, I am 
afraid. And I thought ... You don’t know how 
fine Sherm is. He’s so honorable and kind — so — so 
you can trust him. I just know you’d be proud of 
him after a while.” 

Chicken Little was pleading with eyes and voice 
and trembling hands. The Captain gazed at her a 
moment in astonishment, then he tenderly drew her 
toward him. 

“Chicken Little, I doubt if Sherm would agree to 
that. But if he is willing, I should be proud and 
happy to call him my son. But don’t get your hopes 


378 Chicken Little Jane 

up — I fear Sherm is too proud to let us find any such 
easy solution of his troubles. But we’ll find a way to 
put him on his feet, you and I — we’ll find a way, if 
it takes every cent I have !” 

“I think perhaps the first thing to do, Chicken Lit- 
tle,” he continued after some pondering, “is to try to 
find out something about Sherman’s real parentage. 
It hardly seems possible that a comfortably dressed 
woman could have disappeared with her child with- 
out making some stir. I am in hopes, by getting 
somebody to search through the files of two or three 
of the leading New York newspapers immediately 
following the day of the accident, we might secure a 
clue. I shall write to Mrs. Dart at once for par- 
ticulars, and then send to a man I know and pay him 
to make a thorough investigation.” 

They were so interested discussing what could be 
done, that Sherm entered the room before they knew 
he was awake. The boy was calm, but looked years 
older, and very white and worn. Captain Clarke 
greeted him cheerfully. 

“I hope you rested. Jane tells me you had a stag- 
gering day yesterday. Chicken Little, would you 
mind telling Wing to serve Sherm’s breakfast?” 

As soon as she disappeared, he gripped the boy’s 
hand, saying confidently, “I don’t wish to talk about 
your trouble just now and I have no words to com- 
fort you for your loss, lad, but I want to tell you not 


The Captain Finds His Own 379 

to begin to worry yet about your identity. I believe 
we shall find a way to get track of your people and 
that you will find you have an honorable name, and, 
possibly, a living father to make up a little for the 
kind foster-father you have lost.” 

I don t see how we could — after all these years.” 

“Will you leave the matter to me for a few days? 
And Sherm, make an effort to eat something for 
Chicken Little’s sake — she is worrying her heart out 
over your trouble. You have some good friends 
right here— don’t forget that. Dr. Morton watched 
by you all night. Brace up and be a man. I know 
you have it in you, Sherm.” 

Letters came to Sherm in a short time from Sue 
Dart, from Dick and Alice Harding, and from Mrs. 
Halford, who painstakingly wrote him all' the details 
of his supposed father’s last days. She evidently 
knew nothing of his not being the Dart’s own son. 
Sue’s letter seemed to comfort him a little. He did 
not show it to anyone, even to Chicken Little. He 
confided to her, however, that the folks were send- 
ing his things to him the next day. They had already 
broken up the home and were going back to Chicago 
with Sue the following week. 

When the express package arrived, Sherm took it 
straight to Jane. 

“You open it,” he said. 

Chicken Little took his knife and cut the string and 


380 Chicken Little Jane 

folded back the paper wrappings carefully. It 
seemed some way as if she were meeting Sherm’s 
mother. 

The quaint little old-fashioned garments were 
musty and faded. A frock of blue merino braided 
in an elaborate pattern in black lay on top. There 
was a cape to match, and a little cloth cap. Beside 
these lay a funny pair of leather boots with red tops 
— almost like a man’s — only, oh, so tiny ! 

Chicken Little hardly knew whether to laugh or 
cry at these. 

“Oh, Sherm, did you ever wear them? How you 
must have strutted! I can fairly see you.” 

Sherm smiled and took them up tenderly. Did 
he, too, feel as if there were another presence haunt- 
ing these relics of his childhood? 

The tiny yellowed undergarments came next, all 
made by hand with minute even stitches. A pair of 
blue and white striped knitted stockings was folded 
with these, and last, at the bottom, a little pasteboard 
box appeared, containing a ring, a brooch, and a flat 
oval locket on a fine gold chain. 

Sherm examined the ring first. Inside was in- 
scribed William-Juanita. May i860. 

The brooch contained a lock of dark hair under a 
glass; the whole set in a twisted rim of gold. The 
locket held miniatures of a white-haired man and 
woman with foreign-looking faces. Both Sherm and 


The Captain Finds His Own 381 

Chicken Little looked these over in silence. Pres- 
ently Sherm sighed, then laid the trinkets all back in 
Chicken Little’s lap. 

“I don’t see anything there that could help much,” 
he said hopelessly. 

Chicken Little slowly folded up the little garments 
and laid them neatly back in their wrapping. Her 
brow was puckered into a frown. 

“I am trying to think where I have heard that 
name Juanita — some place lately. I don’t remember 
ever to have known anybody by that name. It’s Span- 
ish, isn’t it?” 

“I guess so, but what you’re thinking of is the 
song, ‘Juanita.’ ” 

“Oh, I expect it is. Sherm, do you mind if I take 
these things over and show them to Captain Clarke? 
He said he would like to see them when they came.” 

“No, take them along. If you’ll wait till I get the 
feeding done, I’ll go with you.” 

r ‘All right, let’s take Calico and Caliph.” 

Sherm lingered out on the veranda while Chicken 
Little displayed the contents of the package to the 
Captain. He examined each little article of clothing 
for some identifying mark. 

“There doesn’t seem to be anything to help on 
those,” he said, disappointed. “Let’s have a look at 
the jewelry.” 

Chicken Little unwrapped the ring from its layers 


382 Chicken Little Jane 

of tissue paper, and handed it to him. Captain 
Clarke took it, regarded the flat golden circle in- 
tently for an instant, then turned it to read the in- 
scription. 

A pained cry broke from his lips. Chicken Little 
glanced hastily up to find him holding the ring in 
shaking fingers, staring off into vacancy. ‘‘Juanita !” 
he whispered, “Juanita!” 

Chicken Little touched his hands in distress. 

“Captain — Captain Clarke, what is it?” 

He looked down at her with a start. “I — it is 

Excuse me a moment, Chicken Little.” 

He walked into his bedroom with the ring still in 
his hand and closed the door. 

Chicken Little waited and waited, not knowing 
whether she ought to go and tell Sherm what she 
suspected. It seemed too strange to be possible. 
And if it were true, surely Captain Clarke would 
want to tell him himself. Perhaps she oughtn’t to be 
there. She rose softly and slipped out to Wing in 
the kitchen. After a time she heard Sherm get up 
from his seat on the veranda step and go into the 
library. Immediately after, the bedroom door 
opened and she heard the murmur of voices. She 
left a message with Wing and running quietly out to 
Calico, untied him, and rode home in the twilight. 

“You needn’t ever say again, Ernest Morton,” 


The Captain Finds His Own 383 

she wrote to her brother the next evening, “that 
E. P. Roe s stories are too goody-goody and fishy to 
be interesting. He can’t hold a candle to what’s 
happened to the Captain and Sherm. I have to go 
round pinching myself to believe it is really so. I am 
almost afraid I will wake up and find it isn’t, still. 
Do you remember the picture of the Captain’s little 
boy that looked like Sherm? Well, it was Sherm. 
I can hear you say: ‘What in the dickens?’ So, I’ll 
put you out of suspense right away. The Captain’s 
boy was not dead, only lost, and he is Sherm or 
Sherm is he, whichever way is right — I’m sure I don’t 
know. .You see the Captain went off on a long voy- 
age and got shipwrecked and was gone ages and 
ages. And Juanita s father and mother were way 
off in California — they used to be Spanish. That’s 
what made them so foreign-looking in the locket pic- 
ture. Well, nobody knows exactly what happened. 
WTen the Captain got back to New York and hunted 
up the boarding house where she had lived, they said 
she had left six months before to go to her parents 
in California. Captain Clarke wrote to California 
and found that her father was dead and her mother 
hadn’t heard from Juanita for months, and didn’t 
know anything about her coming home. Wasn’t it 
dreadful? He paid detectives to hunt her up, but 
they never found the slightest clue. The Captain 
thought she’d gone off and left him on purpose — 


384 Chicken Little Jane 

that’s what made him such a woman-hater — and so 
sad all the time. You wouldn’t know him now. He 
looks like Merry Christmas all the year round. You 
should see him gaze at Sherm. Marian says it makes 
her want to cry, and Mother says it is the most won- 
derful manifestation of Providence she has ever 
knpwn. It seems to me Providence would show more 
sense not to muddle things up so in the first place. 
Sherm is as pleased as can be to find he really is 
somebody, and he’s awfully fond of the Captain, but 
you see he’d got so used to loving the Darts as his 
own folks that he can’t get unused to it all of a 
sudden. He choked all up when he tried to 
call Captain Clarke ‘Father,’ and the Captain 
told him not to. There’s heaps more to tell, but 
Mother has been calling me for the past three 
minutes.” 

“No wonder Sherm feels dazed,” said Dr. Mor- 
ton two evenings later, watching the boy, who was 
making a vain pretense of playing checkers with 
Chicken Little. 

He was so heedless that she swept his men off the 
board at each move, to Chicken Little’s disgust. 
Sherm usually beat her when he gave his mind to the 
game. Presently, she picked up the board and 
dumped the checkers off into her lap. 

“A penny for your thoughts, Sherm.” 


The Captain Finds His Own 38 j 

“I was just wondering if Captain — Father — would 
find out anything more in New York.” 

“How long will he be gone?” 

“I guess that depends on whether he gets track of 
anything new. After he comes back we’re going to 
Chicago to see — Mother.” 

“Oh, I am so glad. It will make you feel a lot 
better to have a good visit with them all.” 

“Yes, and he told me I might buy back the old 
home for her if she wants it — if I’d only known last 
week, she needn’t have sold the place. And the 
Captain — Father — says he will give me some money 
to put out at interest so she’ll have enough to live on 
comfortably. He says he owes her and Father a 
debt he can never repay for bringing me up.” 

Chicken Little was thoughtful. “Sherm, he seems 
to have plenty of money, maybe you can go to college 
and to the Beaux Arts, too.” 

“He said I could have all the education I 
wanted.” 

“Will you go to college next year?” 

“Yep.” 

“O dear, it will be awful here unless Mother lets 
me go to Centerville.” 

“Don’t fret, she is going to.” 

“How do you know?” 

“She told Marian so last night.” 

Chicken Little got to her feet and shot two feet 


386 Chicken Little Jane 

into the air with a whoop of joy. “Goody ! Goody ! ! 
Goody!!!” 

“Save a little breath, Jane. I know something 
better than that. Promise you won’t tell — your 
mother would skin me if she knew I were giving 
away her cherished plans.” 

“Don’t be afraid, she just wants me to act sur- 
prised, and I can do it a lot better if I know about 
it before hand.” 

“Well, she’s coming on at Christmas time for a 
visit in Centerville, and she’s going to take you on 
to visit Ernest.” 

“Sherm, truly?” 

“That’s what she said.” 

Chicken Little gave an ecstatic hop. “Sherm,” 
she exclaimed presently, a new idea striking her, “I 
can go to that hop with Carol!” 

“Carol?” Sherm sat up a little straighter. 
“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you remember that letter I got from 
Carol? You don’t remember a single thing about it, 
do you? He wrote to ask me if I wouldn’t come on 
some time and go to a Navy hop with him. He said 
he was asking me in time so I couldn’t promise any- 
body else.” 

“It strikes me Carol is getting mighty fresh.” 

Chicken Little stole a surprised glance at Sherm. 

“I don’t see anything fresh about that — I think it 


The Captain Finds His Own 387 

nice of him to remember me so long. My, I used to 
think Carol was the most wonderful thing. I hung 
a May basket to him the last spring we were in Cen- 
terville.” 

“You did? Why, I thought I got yours. Who 
hung mine?” 

“Gertie. I guess she won’t mind if I tell — it’s 
been so long.” 

Sherm whistled. After a little he inquired rather 
sheepishly: 

“Say, Chicken Little, you don’t like Carol best 
now, do* you?” 

Chicken Little looked up hastily. She was dis- 
gusted to feel her face growing hot. “Why, Sherm 
— I haven’t seen Carol for four years. I don’t know 
what I should think of him now.” Then, seeing the 
hurt look in Sherm’s eyes, she added: “I guess I’d 
have to like him pretty awfully well, if I did.” 

Captain Clarke was gone two weeks and he had 
added only two facts to those they had been able 
to piece together. He had accidentally run across 
an old friend. This friend had supposed him dead 
all these years, and could scarcely believe his own 
eyes when he saw him. From him, he learned that 
his wife had also believed him dead before she would 
consent to leave New York. This friend told him 
he had suspected that her money was running low and 


Chicken Little Jane 


388 

had offered to help her, but she refused. He thought, 
after hearing the Captain’s story, that she must have 
had barely enough left to take her home, and that 
this explained why she was walking to the wharf in- 
stead of taking a hack, the day she was run down. 

Sherm stayed on with the Morton’s until the fol- 
lowing week when he set out with his new-found 
father to visit his adopted family. Youth recovers 
readily from its sorrows. It was almost the old 
Sherm who raised his cap to Chicken Little as the 
train got under steam and slid away from the long 
wooden platform. 

“O dear!” she exclaimed, “seems to me I haven’t 
done anything this whole year but see somebody off. 
I think it ought to be my turn pretty soon.” 

“Have a little patience, Humbug,” said her father, 
“your turn is almost here. It is hard for me to 
realize how fast my baby is growing up.” 

Chicken Little liked the sound of those words — 
“growing up.” There was something magical about 
them. They lingered in her mind for days. 

One hot Sunday afternoon late in June, she ar- 
rayed herself in an old blue lawn dress of Marian’s 
that trailed a full inch on the floor at every step. 
She coiled her hair high on her head and tucked in 
a rose coquettishly above her ear. Highly gratified 
with the result of her efforts, she swept downstairs 
in a most dignified manner to astonish the family. 


The Captain Finds His Own 389 

Unfortunately the family — Father and Mother, and 
both pups, were taking a siesta. She went over to 
the cottage; a profound silence reigned there also. 
She rambled around restlessly for a few moments, 
then, taking “Ivanhoe” and a pocketful of cookies, 
went out into the orchard. It was hot even there. 
The air seemed heavy and the birds contented them- 
selves with lazy chirpings. She swung herself up 
into her favorite tree and began to munch and read. 

But she did not read long. The charm of the 
green world around her was greater than the pic- 
tured world of the book. Chicken Little fell to mak- 
ing pictures of her own — dream pictures that changed 
quickly into other dream pictures, as real dreams 
sometimes do. As she stared down the leafy arcades 
between the rows of apple trees, she saw an immense 
ball room hung in red, white, and blue bunting and 
filled with astonishingly handsome young men in blue 
uniforms. Ernest was there. And a tall, curly-headed 
Adonis, who looked both like, and unlike, the good- 
natured, plump Carol of Old Centerville days, was 
close beside her. But when the supposed Carol 
spoke, it was certainly Sherm’s voice she heard, and 
it was Sherm’s odd, crooked smile that curved the 
dream midshipman’s lips. Chicken Little recognized 
the absurdity of this herself and laughed happily. A 
bird on a bough nearby took this for a challenge, and 
burst into an ecstasy of trills. 


39° Chicken Little Jane 

‘‘Pshaw, ” she whispered to herself, “I wonder 
what it would really be like.” She kept on wonder- 
ing. She felt as if she and the orchard were wrapped 
about with a great cloud, like a veil, and that beyond 
this, all the wonderful things that must surely hap- 
pen when she grew up, were hidden. The twilight 
was falling before she stretched her cramped limbs 
and slid down the rough tree trunk. She picked up 
her neglected book, which had fallen to the ground 
unnoticed, and said aloud, with a little mocking curt- 
sey : 

“Your pardon, Sir Walter, but I made a romance 
of my own that was — nicer.” 

Then she tucked the slighted author under her 
arm and flew to the house before the pursuing shad- 
ows. Chicken Little was growing up. 



Every grown-up will remember the time 
when 

“Chicken Little” 

was a most wonderful tale with which to open 
wide the eyes of children. 

Many a fond mother will be glad to know of 
another “Chicken Little” just brought to light 
m handsome book form under the alluring title 

Chicken Little Jane 

A DELIGHTFUL STORY BY 

LILY MUNSELL RITCHIE 

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This book is illustrated and decorated with un- 
usually attractive pictures by Charles D. 
Hubbard. Cloth, $1.25 


Britton Publishing Company 


New York 


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SERVICE STARS 

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Britton Publishing Company New York 






































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